


Febuwhump

by agib



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: "Where Are You?", Abandonment, Addiction, Adoption, Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Amputated, Angel Wings, Anger, Angry Tony Stark, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Peter Parker, Asthma, Asylum, Auction AU, Auctions, Biphobia, Bisexual Peter Parker, Blindfolds, Blood Lust, Bombs, Brain Damage, Breach - Freeform, Cancer, Collars, Coma, Creepy Nicknames, Damaged, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Dehumanization, Don't worry, Extremis (Marvel), Fake Character Death, Fallen, Fallen Angels, Fear, Febuwhump, Fluff, Gags, Graphic Description of Corpses, Handcuffs, Head trauma, Homelessness, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Human Experimentation, Hurt Peter Parker, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insomnia, It's Light and Non-Graphic I Promise, Kidnapping, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Memories, Merperson Peter Parker, Merperson Tony Stark, Mild Language, Minor Implied/Referenced Non-con, Multi, Muzzles, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Non-Graphic Non-con, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Really Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parksborn, Peer Pressure, Period-Typical Homophobia, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Poor Peter Parker, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Regret, Slavery, Sokovia Accords, Stalking, Suicide, Superfamily (Marvel), Taken, The Raft Prison (Marvel), Time Travel, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Torture, Trapped, Violence, War, Wingfic, Wrongful Imprisonment, battle field, betrayed, bullied, car crash, conversion therapy, heartbroken, imprisoned, merperson au, shot, they're fake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-10-20 09:13:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 80,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17619623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agib/pseuds/agib
Summary: This is the writing challenge Febuwhump, each day there's a new prompt and I write a fic for it!I'm planning for every chapter to have Irondad, and almost all of them will be purely Irondad, but there may also be a few Superfamily and/or Parksborn fics sprinkled in there, hope that's cool with anyone who reads, everything will be tagged <3





	1. Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> Also! I just put out a poll for you guys to vote on what kind of fic you'd prefer from me, so if you want to have a say in the next upcoming fic, go ahead and take the poll (it's really quick, only one question!)
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

“Didn’t you tell him what happened Pete?” Toomes smiled, quirking an eyebrow in question, despite the fact that he already knew the answer.

 

Peter looked at Tony helplessly, and his mentor thought that he could see an apology shining through those wide, anxious eyes. “Isn’t that a bit irresponsible, being Spider-Man and all, you should let your mentor know how your fights really went, hm?” Peter grit his teeth as he glared and subtly twisted his wrists, hoping against everything that Toomes had been screwed over, and the metal cuffs weren’t real vibranium. “They’re real Pedro, paid cash and all,” he grinned again, the same false _humanity_ and niceties shining through just like the night of homecoming.

 

“Don’t play nicknames and smiles, drop the act and give us your stupid villain spiel.” Tony snapped impatiently, Peter didn’t catch the protective flare in the mechanic’s voice. The truth was, Tony wasn’t impatient, he was quite happy to wait for Toomes to get to the monologuing, especially if it meant more time between now, and whatever he was planning on doing to Peter. Even more truthfully, the nickname ‘ _Pedro_ ’ had irked him more than it should have, much more than it _would_ have only less than a year ago, when Peter was still a relative stranger, just a teenager hidden behind a vigilante who he had needed help from during the Accords.

 

Peter meant a lot more to him now. That, Tony assumed, must have been why hearing someone else casually sprinkling what would normally be a friendly nickname into a conversation, was so angering for him.

 

“I feel like you’ll be regretting the rush soon enough, Stark.” Tony rolled his eyes as he tried to stretch out the best he could with his ankles shackled to an old set of pipes. _Why do bad guys always have to pick old, leaky buildings as their hiding place?_

 

“Mr. Stark is always in a rush and always regretting his horrible decisions,” Peter flashed Tony an innocent smile from across the room, a loose curl bouncing as he concealed a brief laugh. “So, you may as well skip to the bit where you threaten us, blackmail, whatever.” The teen shrugged awkwardly, his wrists bound behind his back with the vibranium cuffs.

 

“You two both seem quite eager to get started, hm? I think I can oblige easily enough.” The smile on Toomes’ face which wasn’t fading, sent the hairs along Peter’s arms and neck stand up, his body stiffening as his eyes roamed over his form. Peter’s gaze stilled over the slight bulge along the pocket band line of the villain’s pants.

 

“Mr. St –” He began fruitlessly, his warning cut off as Toomes beat him to the reveal, pulling the gun out and barely glancing at Tony as he aimed the gun at his head from across the room. “Wait! Wait – Toomes please, _don’t_.”

 

From the other side of what one could only describe as a cell, Tony looked taken aback, but worryingly unbothered by the loaded weapon, pointed straight at his skull form only a few feet away.

 

“You wanted to get started, well let’s get started then Pedro.” Tony’s left eye twitched slightly, but it went unnoticed. Toomes kept the gun aimed in Tony’s direction, but he stepped to the side of the room and kicked a large, metallic box over to where Peter was restrained. “Get in,” he said firmly, no room for arguing.

 

“You can’t just make the kid get into a damn box that may as well have been pulled from Saw.” Tony snarked, irritation clear in his tone. Peter was eyeing the box up, it was about the size of a regular crate, but it was made of metal and had glass sides.

 

“I can do whatever the hell I want, he ruined my life,” Toomes growled, waving the gun around and jabbing it in Peter’s direction. “Get in the box, now.” Tony rolled his eyes, but worry was beginning to pool in his gut as he watched Peter fidgeting anxiously. “I won’t ask again Pete,” Toomes warned as he turned on his heel and approached Tony. “You want to stay put? I’ll put a bullet through his skull.”

 

Peter recognised the tone in the man’s voice, it was the same as homecoming night, in the car, ‘ _I’ll kill you_ ’ Peter couldn’t deny the truth behind Toomes’ statement, considering less than an hour later he had dropped a building on him. The worry in Tony’s gut was now raging in Peter’s, because if Toomes had no problem trying to kill a fifteen-year-old, what would stop him from killing Tony?

 

The gun finally reached Tony’s head, and Toomes had the barrel pressed against the mechanic’s temple as he stared across the room at Peter and the box.

 

“Okay,” Peter relented softly, slowly shuffling onto his knees clumsily as his hands stayed restrained behind his back. He wasn’t chained to the wall like Tony had been, so moving over to where the box sat wasn’t a hard task. “I just… climb in?” He asked unsurely, eyeing Toomes.

 

“Even if it were rocket science, you’d be able to figure it out Pedro. So, get in.” Peter blinked, his eyes meeting Tony’s and blatantly ignoring his minimalistic head shake as he stood and stepped into the box, crouching down again, so only the top of his curls were visible from Tony’s angle.

 

“Peter, I don’t li –”

 

“Cram it, you’ll be disliking it a lot more soon enough,” Toomes spat, removing the gun from against Tony’s head and approaching the box, dropping the weapon and kicking it aside as his focus was redirected. “Crouch down so I can close the lid,” he instructed harshly, watching Peter frowning as he tried his best to reposition. Eventually he managed to get his legs to the side of his body and his back bent forward so it didn’t surpass the top of the box, giving enough room for Toomes to slide the metal lid into place.

 

Tony watched Toomes stepping back and surveying the box, grinning before he spoke. “So, Spider-Man, you really are a _bug_ , it’s just a shame I didn’t quite manage to crush you.” Tony glared at Toomes before he heard the muffled reply from the box.

 

“M’ an arachnid, actually.” Tony looked at his lap and huffed a light laugh, trust Peter to be the one quipping in a situation like this.

 

“Spiders can still be crushed, Pedro.”

 

From the opposite wall, Tony could see Toomes fiddling with something against the side of the box, a small door housing buttons and electrical wiring was being jabbed at as the man tried to activate _something_. “Hope this brings back some good memories for ya, Pete.” The box made a metallic clicking noise and Tony heard a muffled intake of breath, it made his nails dig into his palms. Something was whirring, and the metal lid shuddered.

 

“Peter, you okay?” Tony called wearily, watching the muscles in his shoulders tensing as he tried to stretch out as best he could in the cramped cube. “Kid, answer me,” he repeated, weakly testing the strength of his shackles.

 

“U – uh, I think… I think somethings moving Mr. Stark.” Tony furrowed his brow in confusion, giving the box another once-over.

 

“Trying to work it out, Stark?” Toomes was switching between watching Tony trying to figure out why Peter’s breathing rate was picking up, and staring at the teen himself, his elbows pressed up against the glass and his back against the vibrating roof. “I’m assuming you know nothing about the little… disagreement Pedro and I had in the warehouse before he took the plane down.” Tony hated the glint that flickered in the man’s eyes as he looked back over to Peter as a small, muted grunt echoed from the box. “I feel like if you were given a little explanation, this would make a bit more sense.”

 

“And _I_ feel like if you opened that box and let us go, I’d be less inclined to blow your head off.” Tony snapped back, worrying at the inside of his cheek as he saw Peter straining again. “Why’d you make him get in the box?” He asked, his patience for the vague answers Toomes was giving had run dry, and he wanted to know why Peter’s torso was heaving with effort.

 

“Let’s get you a better view, hm?” Tony wasn’t given a choice, as Toomes moved to the other side of Peter’s box, the side which his back was not to, and pressed his foot against the top corner until the box spun to face Tony.

 

“Oh, Pete…” Tony whispered sadly as he saw the teen’s face.

 

Peter’s neck was tilted all the way to his side, arms lifted up and pressed against the lid of the box, which seemed to be slowly compacting downward, attempting to crush the boy. His legs were sprawled out underneath him and his muscles were all tensed as he seemed to be holding up against however much force was being exerted down on him.

 

But none of that was what scared Tony the most. What made his teeth grind together and his attempts to test the strength of his shackles increase, were the tears rolling down Peter’s reddened cheeks – the empty look in his eyes before they squeezed shut, the same look which Tony had seen before during one of the boy’s panic attacks.

 

He wasn’t really there, he was in his own head, waging a war against memories or nightmares which had clearly been kept away from Tony to prevent his worrying.

 

\----

 

_“Those people, Pete, those people up there – the rich and the powerful, they do whatever they want. Guys like us, like you and me… they don’t care about us… I know you know what I’m talking about Peter.”_

_He doesn’t care, why would Tony Stark care about someone like you? Your ‘mentor,’ your hero, the one who saved you at the Stark Expo who you looked up to even more after that, why would your idol ever care about you?_

_“Why are you telling me this?”_

_“I needed a little time to get her airborn…”_

_A set of metallic wings which flew so fast, the razor-sharp tips sliced through the air with a high-pitched whistling noise. They weren’t faster than Spider-like reflexes or Peter’s webbing._

_It was a case of webbing to the ceiling and jumping when the wings brushed too close._

_Too easy… his mind supplied… it’s too easy, something’s wrong._

_He ignored it, the voices and thoughts mixed, and Peter couldn’t differentiate the logical and the degrading._

_“I’m sorry, Peter.” Toomes called from where his hand was loose from the webbing._

_“What are you talking about?” He yelled back, overconfident when he should have been paying attention to the dull throbbing in his skull and the hairs raising on his arms, “that thing hasn’t even touched me yet.”_

_“True… then again, wasn’t really trying to.”_

_Finally, the doubt and worry screaming and tearing through his mind broke past the ill-placed adrenaline, and Peter watched the wings slamming through the last remaining four pillars. His senses were shrieking, but by that point it was far too late to act on his instincts, which were to get the hell out._

_With the pillars gone, rubble and debris rained down, lumps of concrete, support beams and pipes crushed overtop of his body, his senses dimming as a beam crashed into the back of his skull, his limbs buried under rock and dusty remnants._

_His mask was smeared with blood and icy water, it dribbled into his mouth when Peter came to, sucking in large, panicky breaths as all he was met with was agony. He cried out, gasping and breathlessly trying to push away the feeling of his shattered ribs grating against each other within his crumpled chest._

_With fingers shaking dangerously, an obviously dislocated shoulder scalding in disagreement, he tore away his mask, the congealed blood clumping his damp curls together as he panted heavily. His hand scrabbled for a handhold as he held himself horizontally upright with his core, everything within him protesting the ache and burn of strained muscles. A choked sob escaped him without permission, and the voice was back, telling him he was weak for moaning like a petulant child caught under their mountain of stuffed toys. He grit his teeth with raw determination which faded as quickly as it had come and spoke to himself in a whisper._

_“Okay, ready?” With his arms braced on either side of himself, Peter tried to push his body upward, despite the tonnes of twisted metal and concrete. Dust and pebbled rained down and water ran from his neck over his cheeks to underneath his nose, suffocating him without having to enter an airway. His elbow shuddered before they slumped in defeat, and the panic took over._

_“Hello?!” He gasped for air again, crushing weight feeling too much like nightmares as he waited for a reply which would never come. “Hello!” He screamed desperately, his voice crackling and breaking on fractured but restrained wheezes. “P – Please, hey. Hey, please. I’m – I’m down here. I’m down here, I’m stuck!” He dropped his head and sobbed again, less contained this time, water dripping from his unruly curls and into his eyes, joining the tears. “I’m stuck, I can’t move. I can’t –” His outstretched arm dropped, his head hitting the rubble beneath him as he coughed and gagged on the dust and water which once flowed through the rusted and bent pipes now crushing him more._

_A soaked, cracked eyes and dust coated mask stared back at him, a voice in his head which, for once, wasn’t his own. ‘If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it.’_

 

\----

 

Tony watched Peter slowly falling apart, more tears streaming down his face each second, rough, broken cries and whimpers torn from his throat along with them. He had tried yelling, but Peter’s focus was torn between what must have been memories, and the effort to keep the lid from crushing his bones to dust.

 

“You’re a sick freak, you know that? You blame _him_ for ruining _your_ life, for getting you sent to a correctional facility where you could’ve been released after less than fifteen years?” The shackles rattled gratingly as Tony wrenched against them. “He could have so easily left you to burn on that beach, I saw the fight, I watched him run into flames just to haul your ungrateful ass out of danger.” Tony was spitting now, the constant yet muffled howling from within the box kept his rage heated even as Toomes slowly began to look less and less impressed with himself. “And then, as if that wasn’t enough, he _still_ made the choice to save you, even after you slammed him into the ground and damn near snapped his neck with the force of it all.”

 

“You don’t know what you’re saying, you weren’t there,” Toomes argued, his egotistical pent up anger dwindling. Tony bared his teeth before biting back.

 

“You forget I’m not so stupid that I can’t hack into my own plane camera’s? Peter’s apparently smart enough to know how to crash a plane without damaging many internal operating systems.” Toomes’ eyes hardened, as if the obvious praise in Peter’s direction had set him off.

 

“You think that little nuisance is such a genius? You think he’s so intuitive?” Tony’s glare stiffened right back, his teeth set and ready to argue. “Well he’s clearly not, considering he doesn’t even know what architecture is, do you Pedro?!” Toomed stormed over to the box, kicking the edge and jolting it, a small cry rattling out in response. “Pillars equal support, you know what no pillars means? Do you?!”

 

“Back off!” Tony roared, his ankles kicking forward as he wrenched the chains once again.

 

“No pillars equals one, _stupid_ , overconfident teenage kid in a onesie, crushed under a collapsed building.” Peter screamed from the box, his foot jerking abruptly as the lid presumably popped his shoulder out of place as it continued to press down on him with mechanical force. “You feeling the weight, huh? Reminding you of the night you got me arrested, the day my wife left me and took Liz? When I got sent to prison because of you?”

 

Tony yelled as his shackles lost their give and he tore at the wall with his hands, ripping the bolts where the chains were connected. “You think you’re so special just because you’re a hero? You’re still a child, you’re like a sheet of glass Peter, too breakable, you get a scratch and you carry it for life, alright? You got this and the building collapse to remind you of how little you are in comparison to the big leagues.”

 

Tony snapped his head up, his mind buzzing and head whirring in thought, ideas connecting and shattering in an instant until his eyes swivelled to the weakening strength that Peter displayed in the box.

 

“Peter! Kid, you need to – Peter, look at me!” He rattled his chains, slamming them against the wall to hopefully snag Peter’s split attention. He thanked whoever was out there when misty, brown eyes looked up to catch his. “The glass, the walls of the box – break it!” He motioned with his own foot, jerking it out in a heel kick as demonstration, pride swelling inside him when Peter seemed to harden with determination as he realised what Tony was telling him to do.

 

It took Peter a moment to bend his waist in a way that gave him ample space to throw his leg forward and smash the glass pane. When he rolled out, Tony was sure he must have sliced up his shoulder that didn’t duck down enough, but he was more concerned with the sheer aggressiveness of the lid slamming down to the bottom of the box, where Peter had just sat. _How the hell had Peter been holding that up for so long whilst battling an obvious panic attack?_

 

Toomes seemed to scramble for the gun, but Peter was back with himself now, and his jittery leg kicked out again, sending the box through the concrete wall, only an inch away from Toomes. Tony grinned as Peter pulled himself to his feet, clutching his shoulder but looking ready to fight. “Guess you can’t crush a spider, you stinking bag of s –”

 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter interjected, watching Toomes wearily, but with strategy. He moved forward, knowing that the gun was underneath the box which a human wouldn’t be able to lift. “I didn’t want to do anything, I hated knowing that Liz had to move because of me, but I don’t regret anything. You deserved to be in jail, and you deserve to go back now. You’re a bad person.”

 

Tony hid a grin, Peter was the least intimidating vigilante he’d ever seen, especially without the mask. ‘You’re a bad person,’ was a five-year-olds insult, and yet he couldn’t help but notice how Toomes didn’t seem as confident as he weakly tried to defend himself from Peter’s single hit, which managed to take him out but leave him alive in the end.

 

He was still smiling when his protégé rushed over and snapped his chains. Tony kept the smile on his face even as he pulled Peter into a real hug, cupping the back of his neck and pressing his other hand over the teen’s good shoulder.

 

“You’re a good kid, but you aren’t getting away with not telling me about the warehouse fight that he mentioned.” Peter seemed to relax into Tony’s impromptu embrace, and he nuzzled his head closer as Tony rubbed small circles into the nape of his neck.

 

“Basically, he dropped a building on me, it was after he pulled a gun on me in the car but before I crashed the plane.” Tony squeezed him a little closer, a little tighter.

 

“How the hell do you get yourself into dangerous situations which require me the most, and yet they always happen when you’re in the onesie and not my suit.” He complained without any heat behind the words.

 

“S’ not a onesie,” Peter defended half-heartedly as Tony let him rest his head against his shoulder comfortably.

 

“Sure it’s not kid, just wear the other one when you’re testing out how quickly you can give me grey hairs.” Peter mumbled an affirmative, it was lost against the fabric of Tony’s shirt, but the mechanic couldn’t find it in himself to care that the teen was curled up close. At least he knew from now on, he could comfort the nightmares and panic attacks which Peter had been hiding from him.


	2. Peer Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned continues to nag Peter about asking Harry out, eventually he has to relent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

“C’mon Peter, just do it, you’ll thank me later. _Trust_ me man.” Peter squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, looking up at Ned and frowning in thought as he pictured himself going through with what Ned was trying to convince him of.

 

“I… I will, just not today – another day, maybe s – sometime next week.” Ned rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.

 

“Peter, you totally said that last week. Just do it now, c’mon you’ll be really happy if you do, okay? I’m your friend, why would I lie about something I’m _sure_ of?” Ned lightly nudged him, nodding his head in the direction of the other cafeteria table. “Do it,” he pressed, putting on a Jedi voice as making a small smirk break through Peter’s wall of nerves and anxiousness.

 

“Okay, okay…” he started, “I’ll just ask someone else about how I should do it,” Peter saw Ned’s frustrated by mildly amused eye roll, “this afternoon, after school, I swear I’ll get some tips on how I should go about it, okay?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Ned grinned. Peter smiled and went back to his lunch tray, hoping the subject would drop, if only so he could eat without continually looking up at an opposite table. “Wait, hold on… you don’t mean May, do you?” Peter’s cheeks flushed slightly as he mumbled a quiet ‘ _noooo_ …’ Ned’s face scrunched as he thought about it, working something out in his head before it obviously clicked. “Oh god, you’re asking Tony Stark for advice on something like _this_?”

 

“He’s good at things like this, Ned, did you forget he’s _Tony_ freaking _Stark_? He’s the best person to go to, he’s probably done something like this a million times.”

 

“Yeah but he’ll be all fancy shmancy about it, and like… we’re teenagers man, we don’t take it that seriously.” Peter took his chance to roll his eyes dramatically.

 

“Fine, how would you suggest it then?” Ned straightened up, almost comically.

 

“Hey, would you wanna grab some pizza with me sometime?” Peter huffed, folding his arms over each other and dropping his forehead. “See, it’s seriously not that har –”

 

“It _is_ though…” Peter sighed loudly, tilting his head, so Ned could hear him speak. “It’s just… what if he says no? Or if Flash overhears it, or someone records it like those videos on YouTube and –” He took a deep breath, pausing before he charged up, ready to spew his anxieties everywhere again.

 

“Hey, you know that none of that will happen, okay? He won’t say no, he obviously likes you too y’know, and if you’re worried about Flash overhearing or someone recording it, just make sure you do it in a less crowded place then the school cafeteria.” Peter slowly sat back up, lifting his elbow and resting his chin on it nervously.

 

“Yeah… you’re right, I think I’m being paranoid.” Ned grinned and nudged him again, the conversation immediately flowing on as Peter half listened, and half watched the boy from the corner of his eye, seeing him laughing with friends and fiddle with the apple on his lunch tray.

 

\----

 

“Hey, Mr. Stark!” Peter called, jumping out of his door before Happy had the chance to get out and open it for him. “Are we working on more nanotech today? O – or maybe more suit updates, because I was thinking about the fabric and if we adjusted the elasticity, then mayb –”

 

“Woah, woah, chill out kid. You’re too excited and I’ve only had three cups of coffee today.” Tony casually ran his fingers through Peter’s curls and then ruffled them fondly. Peter smiled and leaned into the touch before Tony pulled away and walked to the elevator, not having to tell F.R.I.D.A.Y before she whisked him and Peter to the usual lab.

 

“I’m guessing nanotech, right?” Peter asked happily, staring at the newer tech splayed across the surface of their usual work bench. 

 

“Yep,” Tony answered, sitting down in the lab chair and rolling across, so Peter could join him. They worked in comfortable silence for a steady amount of time, Peter fiddled with precise wiring while Tony soldered it all beside him. “So, anything interesting been going on at school, what’s happening with your decathlon team?” Peter squeezed his hand int a fist and took a breath.

 

“Uh, y – yeah, there’s actually been some stuff going on. Flash got kicked from the decathlon team because we… we got a new person that was signed up when they transferred and – and they’re really smart n’ stuff, I – I guess.” He looked to his lap and scrunched his nose up as he felt it heating up. Peter could see Tony carefully setting the soldering iron down and spinning in his chair to face him.

 

“And this new person, they’re not rude, like Flash?” Peter shook his head vehemently. “They’re smart, like you said, but they’re a transfer student.” He nodded once for each observation. “Anything else, Pete?” Tony was holding back a small smile and Peter could tell.

 

“I don’t know, I guess… I guess Ned’s been trying to get me to, uh… t – to ask him out?” Tony nodded, clearly considering something before he spoke.

 

“So, it’s a he?” He asked carefully, noting as Peter flushed some more and looked back down to his lap.

 

“Y – yeah… he’s a boy, his name’s Harry.” Peter looked up, Tony could tell that the teen was waiting for his reaction to the news.

 

“Okay,” he said evenly, “that’s cool you know? I don’t care Peter.” The teen blinked before opening his mouth and proceeding to shut it again.

 

“Y – you don’t… you don’t mind that I l – like a boy?” Tony shook his head, quirking an eyebrow as if he were shocked that Peter worried about his mentor’s reaction. “Oh, o – okay… that – that’s good,” Peter chirped, his head perking up from where he had been picking at a loose thread on the hem of his school sweater. “Thank you,” he said quietly, the nervous tint to his cheeks beginning to fade as he resumed tinkering with small wires. Tony ignored the cue and didn’t pick his soldering iron back up.

 

“And?” Peter glanced up, looking at Tony in confusion. “And, what else? That can’t be the whole story Pete.” Tony’s arms folded over his chest and he watched Peter as he seemed to convince himself to speak.

 

“Ned keeps telling me to go for it, but he’s just… Harry’s already really popular and he probably got given the memo that Penis Parker isn’t the most electable person to equate yourself wit –”

 

“Peter,” Tony warned, protective instincts lighting up with the single flame ‘ _Penis Parker._ ’ “Don’t spout Flash’s shit, it’s demeaning and you need to stop listening to him.” Peter nodded once, a flicker of gratitude shining through for Tony. “I agree with Ted.”

 

“Ned,” Peter corrected with a fond eyeroll, he knew Tony’s ‘forgetfulness’ was completely purposeful.

 

“Right, Ted,” Peter snorted, “I agree with him, you should go for it kiddo. What’s the worst that could happen?” Tony watched Peter mumbling. “Seriously, what are you afraid of?”

 

“He could say no… he could laugh at me, I don’t know.” Tony’s face softened, he pulled his chair across and nudged Peter’s arm, much like how Ned previously had. “What do I do if he does say no? Wait, what do I do if he says _yes?_

 

“There you go, now you’re thinking. What to do if he says yes? Simple, take him out. Dinner, movie, park, anything. Get to know him, get food or something like that and then a good way to analyse someone on a date, watch how they treat the waitstaff.” Tony squeezed Peter’s shoulder and smiled, a genuine one. He was proud, and the swell of warmth that came from his pseudo-son coming to him for dating advice was undeniable.

 

“Mr. Stark? Thank you, really, I… I really appreciate that. Thank you.” Peter looked genuinely grateful, and Tony smiled back at him, ruffling his hair fondly.

 

“Anytime kid, let me know how it goes.” Peter nodded as his mentor resumed soldering, the comfortable silence and soft humming of metal tools and wires scraping against each other forming an easy white noise.

 

\----

 

“Wait, I changed my mind. Not today, abort mission – I can’t do this.” Peter turned around to open his locker and blanched when Ned’s hands pressed down on his shoulders.

 

“Peter, for your own health and safety –” Peter interrupted by rolling his eyes, “you gotta ask him out. It’s either that, or you’re going to end up spending the rest of high school pining after someone who I’m pretty sure likes you back.” Peter jolted from where he was twisting the combination into his lock.

 

“You think he likes me back? How come?! Did he say something about me, d – did you mention me or – or did he say something more than the thing he did last week when he said –”

 

“When he asked where you were during English class, _yeah, yeah_. It wasn’t that man.” Peter grinned, remembering the day he had been nursing a fractured wrist at home, after he ditched English class for a robbery down town which required some Spider-Man intervention, when Ned had called, buzzing about how Harry asked about him in English because he wasn’t there.

 

“Wait… if it wasn’t any of that, how come you think he likes me?” It was Ned’s turn to roll his eyes. Peter pulled out his advanced chemistry books in favour of stuffing away his history notes.

 

“Because you guys practically drool over each other every single decathlon meeting. You two are both smart when it comes to school, but you’re so oblivious.” Peter gave his friend a light punch on the arm, wrinkling his nose in response to the too-accurate accusation. “Do it, do it, do i –”

 

“Ned, I do not want everyone hearing this, _shh_.” Peter closed his locker and took the chance to look down the rows to see Harry slamming his own shut. There was an advanced chem book under his arm as well. “ _Since when does Harry do advanced chem, Ned_?” Peter whispered as they walked down the hall.

 

“Uh, I think he’s in the other class, but we were merging today for an experiment, so…” Peter flushed, his hand shooting to run a hand down over his scalp. “Dude, stop it – you’re fine,” Peter sheepishly dropped his hand, forgetting about his hair, it would only curl back up anyway.

 

“Heh, uh, y – yeah. _Mhm_.” Peter mumbled idly as him and Ned slowed when they reached the door to advanced chem. “So… we – _we’re merging with Harry’s class?_ ” He hissed, peeking his head around the door and flushing when he saw Harry and about four other people spread out across the classrooms benches.

 

“We’re pairing up for the experiment, so you should go in there now and just ask him to be your lab partner. Peter, _come on_ , you’re just going to be defiantly-not-subtly glancing at him all period if you don’t.” Peter shook his head, scuffing his shoe as Ned sighed and tugged at his sleeve. “Peter, go on, it’s not like he’ll say no – even if your big fear is true and he doesn’t like you, he’s still gonna say yes to being your lab partner, you’re the smartest kid in the class.” Peter looked at Ned, resisting the urge to roll his eyes yet again.

 

“Hey – Ned don’t you dare –” Peter’s sleeve was tugged, and he stumbled into the classroom behind Ned. “ _Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t d –_ ”

 

“Hey Harry,” Ned greeted cheerfully, dragging Peter into the seat’s directly one row up from where Harry sat. Peter winced, he worried the wingman stunt had been too obvious, him, Ned and MJ only ever sat at the table to the right.

 

“Oh, hey Ned.” Harry looked up from his chem book and returned the smile, “hey Pete.” Peter flushed immediately, ignoring the excited slaps that Ned was dealing him under the table.

 

“H – hey Har.” He returned the smile, timidly at best.

 

\----

 

“Dude, dude, he totally nicknamed you, and you totally nicknamed him back. You’re in, he totally just… like he just _gave_ you a nickname.” Ned was whispering enthusiastically, trying to cram all of his excitement into the conversation before Harry got back from the front of class, where he was marking himself off on the roll. “You gotta ask him now, nobody will be paying attention during the experiment, you’ll have your own table to yourselves, Flash is nowhere near us, and – and, he nicknamed you!”

 

“Ned, he probably just heard you calling me Pete, and I don’t know about here… what if he just really wants to focus on the work or –”

 

“I doubt it, he seems pretty happy chatting you up during decathlon meetings, he’ll be fine. Come on man… pleeeease just ask him out.” Peter ducked his head subconsciously as Harry walked past their table to get back to his own. “Do it, do it before class ends.”

 

“Ned, _he’s right there,_ ” Peter hissed, getting up as his name was called.

 

“You think it’d be wise to let the class choose their own lab partners?” The substitute teacher asked him as he crossed off his name in red pen.

 

“Yeah – yes, definitely,” he blurted, his eyes flicking to the doorway as MJ walked in, a minute or so late, as usual. He smiled at her and walked back to the desk together.

 

“Hey MJ, we’re partners, I need help with the formulas, they’re all backwards.” Peter met Ned’s eye, he was smiling with an encouraging look on his face. “Hey Pete, you mind going with, uh…” Ned looked around, he was a horrendous actor, because Harry looked up before he even gave a poorly faked look of revelation. “Oh, you and Harry should work together, good practice for decathlon and all, y’know?” Peter brushed a curl off his forehead and used his hand to block his face from Harry for a brief enough moment to glare at Ned.

 

“Yeah, that’d be great, you good with that Peter?” Harry asked, looking at Peter once he dropped his hand and smiled again, still weak.

 

“Uh, yeah, yep. Sounds really good.” He choked out, pushing his books off the table and into his arms, taking two steps back and plonking everything down beside Harry, his cheeks burning as he sat.

 

“I’ll get the beakers and chemicals if you don’t mind grabbing the safety equipment?” Peter nodded and let Harry move to the front of the class as he moved to the back, along with Ned who helped him gathering the safety gear.

 

“Ask him out, seriously. Even MJ wants you to, Peter… please, just ask him out.” Peter turned, two pairs of safety goggles swinging on his index finger.

 

“It… it’s just scary though, in the middle of class – what if he says no? It’ll be so awkward.” Peter and Ned walked back to their desks right across from each other, Harry was still collecting beakers. Peter swallowed thickly and sat down.

 

“Peter, just go for it, man. Nothing bad is gonna happen, the worst thing that could happen is Harry politely declining. You’re overthinking everything, just _ask him out_.” Peter clenched his teeth and rubbed a hand over his face, worrying to no end inside his head.

 

“Okay, okay. Fine, I – I’ll try,” he relented, fidgeting in his seat and picking at his cuticles nervously as Harry came back to sit down. Peter took a deep breath as the two of them unpacked what they needed and flipped through the chem book with the instructions, he felt like his heart was about to crawl up his throat. “H – hey, um… you wouldn’t want to, uh, maybe…” Peter could feel Ned and MJ pausing in their experiment just to hear him finally find the courage to say the words ‘ _would you want to grab pizza with me afterschool sometime?_ ’

 

“Want to…” Harry prompted, looking over at Peter who was twisting a pen cap in his hands and blinking as he stared at his book. The teen looked up, facing Harry, and stared a few seconds longer, admiring him as the pressing weight of what he wanted to say wore him down.

 

“W – want to…” Peter continued, his mind throttling as he screamed internally and hit the eject button. “Want t – to do the experiment if I do the practical, j – just so you’re not stuck with the boring work?” Peter winced, feeling the tenacity of an unmade mind creeping over the back of his neck and setting him on edge. He could feel MJ rolling her eyes and hear Ned’s head hitting the table in over exaggerated frustration.

 

“Well, I mean if you’d prefer to do the writing, go ahead, but I kinda figured you’d want to work on the experiment. Y’know, do the work together?” Peter went red in the face, nodding sheepishly as Harry smiled. “Cool, so if you want to grab the acids, I can start measuring out the bases and…” Peter nodded along to what Harry was saying, not taking anything in as he stared at him, his head rested on his fist, blinking dazedly every few seconds.

 

_I feel like being that cute and that smart at the same time should be illegal._

 

“You okay?” Harry asked curiously, smiling when Peter blinked and sat up straighter, moving his head as if to shake away the distracting thoughts. 

 

“Yeah! Yeah, totally, I’m um… I’m good.” He smiled, wilting slightly as Harry smiled back, his pinkish cheeks quirking. “So, you wanna get mixing then? I’ll record the results and add the stabiliser when we’re ready.”

 

The two faded into work, Peter barely managing to shove aside the nagging feeling in his throat that told him to stop being so anxious and just do what Ned kept telling him to.

 

\----

 

When the class had packed up and rinsed all the beakers and disposed of the mixing sticks, there was about fifteen minutes of quiet chatter as the bookwork was worked through. Harry and Peter were among the chatter, a few mild jokes here and there, the bumping of elbows as they wrote and the brushing of fingers as they both reached for the calculator at the same time. 

 

“Hey… I was just wanting to ask something,” Peter began, five minutes left until lunch. His gut was churning, and Ned seemed to subtly perk up from the seat in front of them. His heart was about ready to put a dent in his rib cage from all the anxious thudding it was doing, his hands grew clammy with anticipation and fear, but he swallowed, closing his eyes and taking a breath. 

 

Harry was jotting something down, but he glanced over as Peter spoke, it made his chest flutter with even more nerves, if it was even possible to have any more anxiety. “You wouldn’t want to, maybe, just… grab some pizza or something a – after school sometime? W – with me, I mean?”

 

Peter could feel his whole face flushing when Harry put his pencil down and looked up at him. He felt   
like this was the build-up – the moment that Ned had been nagging him about for days now. It was what Tony had given him advice on, and he didn’t want to chicken out now.

 

“Yeah, I’d really like that.” Harry replied easily, a tiny tint of pink colouring his cheeks, far less than how red Peter was.

 

“Oh! That… that’s awesome, um, th - thanks Har, thank you.” Peter looked down at his book to hide the wide smile, the flush spreading up to his ears. 

 

_Harry said yes, Harry said yes, hesaidyes ohmygod he said yes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	3. Taken (+ Fanart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter takes his driving test, convincing his Dad to let him take it on his own, so he could avoid any bias.  
> But what happens when his instructor needs money, and he happens to know about the child of a certain billionaire?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Points:  
> ~
> 
> In this fic, it's not mentioned, but Peter is 17, he doesn't have any powers and he is Tony's biological child (I guess you could imagine he was adopted after May died, it would work). (You could imagine him as younger too, but 17 is how old you have to be to drive in New York, I believe.)
> 
> ~
> 
>    
> Everyone take notice of Shoyzz's AMAZING artwork! 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

Six months ago, there was a press leak, and a blurry picture of Peter with Tony was captured as they were swarmed by paparazzi. His Dad had instinctually taken off his suit jacket and thrown it over Peter’s head, before wrapping an arm over his shoulders and guiding them both to the car. They had pushed through the sea of blinding camera flashes, but by then, the pictures had already been snapped.

 

There were many, many articles in which everyone was trying to pick apart the one _good_ picture a reporter managed to get of the teen before the jacket covered his face. Peter was looking at Tony with wide eyes, his face blurry from the movement of his head whipping to stare at his Dad for help as the first few cameras began flashing.

 

But that was a while ago, and it had since died down a lot, his face was barely recognisable, and he didn’t have that many discernible features which set him apart.

 

\----

 

Six months later and Peter was going for his driver’s licence test. He managed to convince Tony to stay at home, he wanted to try and get his licence on his own, under the guise of Peter Parker, rather than worrying about any unfair bias, the good or bad.

 

His name was called, and he stumbled to the car, jittery with nerves and a stone of worry residing in his chest. Peter clambered into the car and stared at the steering wheel, taking a breath before resting his hands on it sheepishly. He checked all the mirrors, adjusting the rear-view one just because he felt like he had to, despite the fact that it was already angled perfectly for his height. 

 

His tension began to ease slightly as he started driving with the instructor in the passenger seat.

 

“Interesting last name, Parker, is it?” Peter made a point of keeping his eyes on the road, wondering silently if odd questions was a part of the marking criteria.

 

“Y – yeah, yep. Parker.” He supplied a bit awkwardly, diverting almost all of his attention on making a somewhat challenging turn. He stayed in his lane and estimated the distance between his hood and the car in front’s back bumper.

 

The instructor directed him calmly, and Peter hoped that he was doing everything right so far. After a short while, the instructor asks him to pull over into an empty parking lot. He does, feeling much more in his comfort zone as he entered the lot, which was devoid of any other cars, aside from a few that must have been owned by older shoppers.

 

Peter remembered his first time driving. His Dad had gotten them a car which blended in with lower-classed vehicles, considering every car he owned was top of the line.

 

_“Dad, wait, wait. Nooo, don’t record me!” Peter laughed, hiding his face in the sleeves of his sweater._

_“This is your first time ever driving a car, of course I’m recording you. Quick, start the engine, I want to see you driving kiddo.” Peter lowered his hands and looked to the camera nervously, Tony shot him an encouraging grin from the passenger seat. “How come you grow up so fast, jeez, wasn’t I walking you into preschool the other day, and now look at you.” Peter rolled his eyes at his Dad’s exaggerated fake tear wipe._

_“Oh ha ha. You’re hilarious,” Peter said sarcastically as he twisted the key and immediately tensed as the car started._

_“Handbrake,” Tony reminded him, grinning as Peter nervously pressed his foot down on the accelerator. “Good, there you g – oh.” The car jerked aggressively as Peter put his foot on the break too suddenly. “It’s a leaf,” Tony laughed._

_“It moved! I thought it was a mouse or something!” Peter defended, doing a poor job of hiding his own laughter. “Ugh, why is this so complicated,” he moaned as he tried to remember which pedal was for acceleration and which was brakes._

 

But now, here he was, pulling into a parking lot which he drove to on his own. He smiled, turning into a parking space without much difficulty. He obsessively checked all the mirrors again, ignoring the silence that came from the driving instructor.

 

After a longer stretch of time, Peter began to feel uneasy as he picked up on how much the man in the passenger seat was looking at him. He didn’t see him taking any notes during the drive and it was starting to put him on edge. He wondered if it was his paranoia playing up because of the anxiety over the test, but it seemed to be more obvious the longer the silence pushed on.

 

“Can I get your parents’ names for the form?” The man asked abruptly, making Peter jerk a little in surprise. The teen blanked, he knew his fake name was ‘Parker’ but he never had to make up a fake name for Tony before, it was normally just ‘Mr. Parker.’

 

“Uh, uh yeah, sure. It’s… J - John and, and Sarah?” He mentally berated himself as soon as the words left his lips, those were the most cliché, common names he could ever have thought of. Of course, those were the names he went with, _of course_.

 

There’s another moment of silence, Peter fiddled with his seatbelt and averted his eyes from the instructor who seemed to be regarding him too carefully.

 

“And your address?” The man’s eyes were on Peter’s, he was staring, and the unease crawled up Peter’s spine and throat, wrapping around his skull and making him shudder under the intense gaze. “That’s what I thought,” the man drawled. Peter tilted his head, confused, he hadn’t answered the question, so why was the instructor acting as if he had answ –

 

In a blur, there was suddenly a fist in his hair which shoved his head forward. His forehead hit the steering wheel and then Peter could only see black.

 

\----

 

Peter groaned as he came to. He felt the steady vibration of a car engine, and his neck was stiff where his head had been leaning against the window. He blinked wearily, his eyes adjusting to the light, blurry shapes zooming past and the familiar grey of the road. 

 

He was in a car, on the highway. Peter jerked upright, gasping as his nick clicked in protest. His arms ached horribly, they were tingling yet somehow numb. He looked up, following his arms until a glint of metal stopped him.

 

Handcuffs.

 

 _What the hell, what the hell, why the hell are there handcuffs, oh god…_ Peter shook his arms as best he could, wincing when the cuffs jangled together audibly.

 

 

He was handcuffed to the hand holder above the passenger door, restrained by both hands. Peter had no idea how he got to the passenger side, he didn’t want to think about it, he also had no clue how long he had been passed out for, or how he could defend himself while handcuffed as well as a case of numb arms.

 

He could see the driving instructor beside him, casually looking out the window and cruising along a relatively clear road, barely any other cars in sight, aside from the lanes of traffic assumingly heading into the city, the opposite direction that their car was going. They were well out of the city by then, and Peter wondered if his Tony would be beginning to worry by now. 

 

“Why are you doing this?” He demanded, shaking his cuffs in emphasis as the instructor paid no attention to him. “Where the hell are you taking me?!” He pressed, his voice crackling in fear as his volume raised.

 

Peter was terrified, he didn’t have any clue or understanding of what was happening, and his head throbbed and pulsed angrily. The man didn’t even seem to care as Peter began toying with the cuffs, jerking them and tugging to test the strength.

 

He could feel tacky, dried blood which had crusted in his hairline, it itched when his brows scrunched together. He wanted his Dad to wipe it away just like he had when Peter had fallen off a bench and cut his forehead on a pointy piece of bark. The deafening silence in the car now was the polar opposite of the concerned questions and comforting shushing which had filled the space after the injury. But now the car was eerily silent, at least until it wasn’t.

 

“Peter Parker. You’re a great liar, but that’s not really a surprise, coming from Tony Stark’s son.” The instructor pipes up after a moment, making Peter scowl darkly before taking in exactly what he said. The man had somehow worked out who Peter was, who his _father_ was. He swallowed nervously and stared back at the man with frightened eyes. 

 

“H – how do you know that?” He asked shakily, wishing he could reach his bag in the back seat, with his wallet and more importantly, his phone.

 

“I could get a lot of money out of you, but I guess that’s only assuming the stupid billionaire slash playboy _actually_ cares about his kid.” Peter grit his teeth together but forced himself to keep quiet. The last thing he wants is to provoke the man who was clearly capable of utilising a teenager for his father’s money. “You’re smart, you know when to keep your mouth shut. I like that.” Peter frowned but took a moment to subtly glance behind him, looking for other cars and wilting slightly when he realised the instructor had taken a turn off the highway, and that they were now on a quiet, dirt road.

 

The wheels crunch over dust and gravel as they turned into an empty gas station. Peter could see the freezer advertising bags of ice was unplugged, he could pick out that the single cashier in the store was about fifty and didn’t look like he would be much help. He gulped as the keys twisted and the ignition shut off. The man turned to face him, finally, and Peter immediately wished he would turn around again.

 

The instructor was dark haired, but his eyes were icy blue and filled with contempt that made Peter’s heart pound in worry. “I’m getting gas,” he grunted, slamming the door behind him and filling the tank of the car, all with his eyes trained on the teen.

 

Peter waited until the man has left the side of the car and entered the shop. He tugged with every piece of strength he had in him and blatantly ignored how his temples and skull screamed in pain with the strain of it. Thankfully, he managed to rip one side of the hand holder from the roof of the car, meaning he was still handcuffed, but not to the car anymore. 

 

He struggled with the handle of the door for several terrifying seconds, before blowing out a breath he hadn’t been consciously holding as the door popped open. A small cloud of dust puffed up as the door almost smacked into the side of the pumps, but Peter stubbornly stumbled out, finding it surprisingly hard to keep his balance as his hand were still cuffed together in front of him. 

 

There was a mechanical trill as the automatic doors opened, the sound sent him sprinting clumsily behind the nearest pump. He panted before a footstep made him hold his breath again. Peter wearily shuffled to the side, so that he could peer through the small gap between the car pumps. He bit his tongue to keep himself from audibly squeaking when the fabric of the instructor’s shirt passed by the gap in the pumps, less than a foot away and separated by only a small stand.

 

“Little brat,” Peter heard, the hissed and violent tone made him stiffen up, even as the man seemed to rip open all the doors of the car and check through the window into the boot. Peter could see his bag, with his phone inside, it was barely three steps away, and with the man at the other side of the car… he might be able to risk it. “Goddamnit!” The instructor snapped, his fist hitting the roof of the car and making Peter jump suddenly.

 

His breathing released, and he began to pant again, stepping to the side slightly as the instructor rounded the car again, cutting off Peter’s access to his phone as the door slammed shut. The man had started to pace up and down the length of the car, Peter flinched anytime he walked past the spot where he was hidden behind the pump. He watched the instructor running a hand through his hair angrily, tugging at the follicles until he burst, slamming his foot into the disposal bin beside the pump.

 

Peter yelped and jumped back as the bin careened past him, spilling cigarette butts and chip packets from the gas station across the ground. There was silence from the other side of the pump, Peter froze up, his eyes blowing wide as he stood, petrified, in place. “You little sh –”

 

Peter was running before he even heard the rest of the instructor’s sentence. He stumbled for a few steps as he got used to the weight of running without his hands by his sides, but by the time the man had gotten around the pump and began to give chase, he had already righted himself and put on as much speed as he could.

 

The wind was blowing dust into his eyes, but he blinked rapidly and pushed himself forward, his feet kicking rocks and pebbles in every direction as he madly threw one foot after the other. He prayed to whatever was out there that he could somehow get out of the most deserted road in existence. His throat was closing up and burning raw with exhaustion after barely two minutes of full-out sprinting, and he was gasping for air, too terrified to turn around and see how close the man was, yet not wanting to only rely on the accuracy of his hearing to judge the distance.

 

“Please!” He wheezed, his feet slipping on a stone and his ankle flaring in pain, a small yowl falling from him as he skittered forward again. “St – st…” he gave up pleading after not even two words, it made the bubble of pain in his chest expand and failed to drown out the beat of his heart thrumming in his ears like a broken record. He could feel the muscles in his legs crying for him to stop, and the sound of the man’s footsteps seemed to be getting closer, but Peter didn’t have anything left in him, no more endurance, nothing.

 

The instructor was so close now that Peter heard his breaths puffing only feet behind him, and he cried out in fear as he forced his legs to keep pumping, his wrists desperately yanking apart, as if he hoped the cuffs would magically snap under force of will alone.

 

Everything inside of him burned like nothing else, his throat felt compressed and he barely got any air into his lungs, but he knew that stopping now to try and starve off an asthma attack would only get him tackled. He wanted to taste fresh air, he needed water, he had to keep pushing himself forward despite the black dots flittering behind his eyelids as he blinked.

 

A shuddered gasp filled his ears and he realised he was the one making the sound. His breathing was so strained that it sounded like a deathly rattling. Nothing could compare to the strangled scream he made when the man finally caught up and slammed into him from behind.

 

They both hit the ground, Peter taking the brunt of the impact, his cheek hitting the dust, his elbows and knees gaining strips of road rash as he skidded across stones and dirty gravel. He whimpered when his lip split, and when he felt hands tearing him upward, he screamed again.

 

He was roughly flipped onto his back, and the instructor looked furious. _What if he actually kills me?_ Peter thought darkly. The piercing, icy eyes were burning holes through his layer of rebellion, and his cries break into one long wail. The gas station was only a bit further down the road, still within earshot, Peter hoped.

 

The man clamped a hand over Peter’s mouth, nails digging into his cheeks as his other hand grabbed his cuffed wrists and shoved them above his head, nostrils flaring when the boy continued to try and shove him away with harsh hits to his torso.

 

“Shut it, or I’ll walk back down into that store and buy a roll of duct tape just to shut you up myself. Got it?” The man was seething above him, and Peter couldn’t do but make a muffled ‘ _mhm_ ,’ from under the instructor’s hand. He was fixed with a final glare before the hand peeled away from him, and Peter seized the chance to suck in a lungful of air while he was stretched out in the dirt.

 

When the weight is lifted, and the man was no longer pinning him down, Peter rolled onto his side and pushed himself to his knees. If he could just get further within range of the gas station and his phone, he could either call for help, or scream for the cashier to. He flinches when the instructor stands, his head was at stomach height, and his body reacted before his mind could even process how stupid he was.

 

Peter slammed his head into the man’s gut, making him stumble backward, giving himself barely enough time to scramble to his feet and begin to dash less then two steps before the back of his shirt was clenched in a fist. He’s thrown right back to the ground, all of the oxygen he had spent time recovering was knocked from his lungs, and yet he continued to struggle. His foot managed to connect with the man’s knee as he was being gripped by the ankle.

 

Peter is yanked forward, in the direction of the gas station. “You won’t stop trying to cause trouble by running? I’ll put you somewhere that’ll keep you in one place.” 

 

Peter doesn’t shout, he just sets the fear aside and screams with reckless abandon. It’s ear-piercing and takes the instructor off-guard for a moment, but as soon as the initial shock fades, hes more furious than he has been so far.

 

By the time Peter reaches the car, his back feels raw and covered in small pieces of gravel which seem to have lodged in the road rash. He hears the trunk popping as he opens his mouth to scream again, but before he can, the man has already grabbed the first thing he could find. The movement is so quick that before he knows it, Peter has an old, grease stained rag shoved into his mouth. It’s knotted behind his head before he can spit it out, and when its pulled tight, several of his hairs near the base of his skull are torn out with a sharp pain that makes his eyes water.

 

Peter is so focused on trying to yell loud enough through the gag that the cashier will hear, but he can see the earbuds stuffed into his ears from the ground. He’s pulled to his feet and instinctively, the teen moves to run again, but he’s shoved backwards so harshly that when his legs hit the bumper of the car, he falls backward into the small trunk space. He flails desperately, trying to kick out with his free legs, but the trunk is slammed before he can even begin to clamber out again.

 

\----

 

Tony had lost his patience when the DMV confirmed that Peter and his instructor weren’t back yet, for the third time. It was far past the panicky stages for him, seeing as he was already in the suit, flying directly towards the blue dot representing Peter’s phone.

 

When he landed at the gas station, he wasn’t looking for answers, he was looking for _revenge_. He can see a man taking deep breaths and laying an awkward hand over his stomach, looking pained as if he had just prodded a bruise. Tony can also see a smear of blood on the shirt, the scratched on his arms, and the frantic look in his painfully light blue eyes.

 

But that’s not what sets him off – what sets him off is his son’s bag in the backseat of the car, the broken hand-holder, and the steering wheel stained with a drop of crimson.

 

To say that he ‘dealt’ with the man would have been a gross understatement. He hoped the broken ribs wouldn’t stop the man from trying to confess, or the broken nose… or the swollen eyes, plus every other thing that the angered father managed to snap.

 

For now, he was focused on tearing through the car, he checked the front seats, back, around the empty lot, even inside the gas station and a quick suit scan of the road. He was beginning to freak out even more edging on an anxiety attack because Peter was _gone._

 

He can hear his heartbeat thumping, but it’s too real, as if it was from outside of his body. He clutched a hand against his chest and jerked when the thumping of his heart didn’t match up to the feeling of his pulse. The thumping continued, and he edged closer to the source of the sound.

 

His suit charges up in defence when the break light abruptly smashes to the ground, muffled screams bursting through the now open space. Tony is ripping open the trunk before his suit even manages to scan for threats.

 

Peter, his child, was curled up in the small space, a dirty and blackish brown stained rag in between his lips, blood on his shirt and from a cut from his hairline.

 

“God, what the absolute hell kid.” He mumbled as he lifted his son from the trunk, immediately beginning to gently slip the gag away. “I called the DMV a hundred time and they said you weren’t back, I – I thought you’d crashed! Jesus christ,” he collapsed on the ground and rested his back against the car, pulling Peter into his lap.

 

“I _wish_ we crashed,” Peter panted, dropping his forehead onto his father’s shoulder. He whined when he felt Tony rubbing away the line of blood on his forehead, his skull pounding in disagreement as his temples throbbed. “He sucked,” he grumbled as Tony checked him over worriedly, like only a concerned parent could.

 

Peter closed his eyes and took steadying breaths as he heard his dad speaking into an ear piece, assumingly to the police from the sounds of things. His heart was still racing, but at least he felt wrapped in a blanket of safe now that he knew his dad was there with him.

 

“Yeah, he definitely sucked. We should make bets on how long he gets, I’m making sure there’s no parole though.” Peter huffed a soft laugh, being reminded how much he appreciated the way Tony downplayed serious situations with a dose of humour.

 

“Can we still have movie night tonight?” He curled a little closer as his dad draped an arm over his shoulder, subtly checking that the road rash was the worst of his injuries.

 

“We can do whatever you want kiddo,” Tony promised happily, kissing the crown of Peter’s head with a contented sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> The amazing artist is Shoyzz, and her Tumblr is Shoyzz-Art
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	4. "Where Are You?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has been lost for months... Tony just needs to find him again, but he wasn't prepared for what could have been done to his intern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:  
> This chapter includes dehumanisation, so please be wary if reading may be triggering/too dark for you in any way! <3 Stay safe <3
> 
>  
> 
> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

Tony fired his repulsors without thinking, because whoever was behind that door deserved to die, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Rhodey flew in before he got the chance, his blast had obviously not gotten all of the men gathered in the cellar anyway, considering there was the audible pinging of bullets on Rhodey’s suit.

 

Tony flew into the room not two seconds after his friend and teammate, rising up to where the ceiling was angled inward, his auto-locking projectiles firing out in most directions as he watched the chaos. He surveyed the room, hoping he would find Peter tied to a chair, unscathed, despite the fact that he had been missing for _months_ and the hope was irrational. 

 

He could see a larger man on the outskirts, his gun on the floor as he turned on his heel and ran for the hole which had been left in the wall.

 

His head snapped back when Tony slammed him back against the wall, the faceplate receding to reveal the furious billionaire, his seething rage pouring out of every pore.

 

“Where is he?” He growled, shaking the man and leaning in so close that he could probably see the wild look in his eyes. “Tell me!” He screamed after three seconds of silence. Tony backhanded the man, with his gauntlet still attached, leaving a welt and two cuts across his cheek to his temple. “Where the _hell_ is my intern, huh?” The man stuttered, his hands raising up in defeat.

 

“W – what? I don’t kn – know what you – _argh_!” Tony twisted the man’s wrist until he heard a satisfying snap. The man howled, drowning out the noise of Rhodey, and now apparently Steve, dealing with the rest of the men. “AH! WAIT! I don’t kn – _AHHH_!” Tony squeezed his gauntlet over the shattered wrist bone, his eyes stony and without any emotion aside from anger.

 

“You’re going to tell me where my intern is, or you’re going to regret ever taking your first breath.” The man swallowed audibly, his face sheet white.

 

“Wh – which one is your i – intern? I can tell you, j – just… which one is yours?” His unbroken wrist shuddered outward, pointing to a bulletin board three steps to his left. Tony kept the man pinned against the wall, yet his suit snapped back shut to enhance the view.

 

There were eighteen photos of traumatised college students, each of them looked to be in their late teens to early twenties. They were all bruised and injured, a terrified look in their blown wide eyes. Each of them had a sticky note attached with one of three words written on them, ‘deceased,’ ‘sold,’ or ‘released.’ However, there was one picture, a nineteenth one, which stood out from the rest. It had no sticky note, and the child looked no more than sixteen. It was taken from a high angle, looking down on the boy who was kneeling on the floor, a large hand cupped his cheeks and chin, tears blazing down from large, doe eyes.

 

“That one,” Tony whispered, his eyes burning behind the mask. The man against the wall thought for a moment before nodding his head tentatively to another door.

 

“D – down that hall and I – I think he’s four doors down and one t – to the left.” Tony grinned mercilessly before blowing a hole through the man’s chest, saying a facetious thanks before calling through the comms that he was going to find Peter.

 

Tony engaged his thrustors and flew straight through the wood of the door. There wasn’t any time to stop and waste time because of something as trivial as a door handle. He had been looking for almost a year, and he wasn’t stopping now.

 

There was a bubbly feeling in the empty space within his chest which had been there since the night that Peter hadn’t shown up to their lab session. Each door he flew past was another step closer to getting him back, another minute he didn’t have to spend worrying and missing the kid who had webbed himself to the mechanic’s heart.

 

“Peter?” He called as the faceplate flipped up and he tore open the handle to the room the now dead man had directed him to. The room was bare, concrete floors and dirty, stained concrete walls. A single pipe ran up one corner of the wall, but nothing more. “ _Damnit,_ ” Tony growled angrily, backing out of the room and kicking open the next door along.

 

He worked his way up and down the hallway, four doors down each side, all of them holding the same dirty, concrete walls, but none of them as grimy as the first.

 

The sounds of Rhodey and Steve ridding the cellar of the men had died down, and Tony stepped out of his suit as his heart began to clench painfully. _He’s not here, Peter isn’t here. He wasn’t in the room the man said – he wasn’t in any of them. He could be dead, one of the men could have somehow managed to escape with him, anything could have happened!_

 

“Tony, Tones… hey, it’s me,” Tony snapped his head up, his arms wrapped around his stomach as he choked on air in panic. “You need to take a breath, we’ll find him, okay? The men all said he was here, but you need to calm down first.” Tony flinched even as the calm hand pulled back from his shoulder, he felt like his insides were a mess of twisted anxiety and panic at the concept of not getting Peter back, _now._ “He’s going to need you more than anything right now, Tones. So, you’ve got to pull yourself together, for him. For Peter.”

 

“Y – yeah,” he huffed, shivering as he stumbled back to the first room, trailing after Rhodey. “Pete?” He called wearily, praying that there would be some kind of response. “Peter, please kid…” he felt his chest tightening as he followed Rhodey through the doorway, their heads swivelling around the room in hopes of finding something previously overlooked. “Peter? Kid…?” Tony clenched his fists and took a shaky breath. _This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, he has to be here… he HAS to be here._

 

Tony felt his eyes burning and his throat tightening with the effort to hold back tears. “Where are you?” He yelled, his voice cracking at the end of the desperate call.

 

“Oh… Tony,” Rhodey whispered, his hand shooting out to grab Tony’s upper arm, a finger on his suit unfolding to point just behind the door.

 

Tony turned around, his feet squeaking on the concrete. He stopped moving, freezing completely as he saw what Rhodey was staring at, horrified.

 

A small, iron cage, bars only an inch apart from each other, was bolted down to the ground behind the door, almost as if it were used as a door stop. There was a tiny, dark mass, huddled at the back of the cage, a barely audible noise leaking eerily from it.

 

It was a gargled whiney sound, almost defensive in a way, and yet still so submissive, wavering in pitch each time Tony moved a muscle. The plaintive cries stuttered and broke as Tony crept closer, his suit fully disengaged and stood off to the side next to Rhodey, who was stepping out of his own suit.

 

“P – Peter… I – is that you kiddo?” The noise croaked, and Tony saw the shadowy form pushing itself even further back against the bars. There was a lower noise, almost similar to a snarl, as he crouched down, tentatively reaching out for the cage.

 

Teeth clashed and the sound of bare feet scraping against the bottom of the cruel cage echoed as Peter tried to squash himself even further back from the door. “I – I… kid… I’m here, c’mere buddy.” He unlatched the hook keeping the cage door closed, it was rusted and made a piercing screech as he pulled the door open. “Rhodey, can I get some light?” Tony whispered, too afraid to reach in and pull Peter out before the boy recognised him fully.

 

“Yeah… yeah man,” Rhodey managed through the shock, running back to his suit and aiming some soft lighting at the cage and where Tony was squatting.

 

“Hey…” Tony cooed quietly, his voice fractured as he got a look at Peter with the light on.

 

His once perfect curls had grown out, they were practically past his ears, and the loose waves had furled up into tendrils and tightened into greasy ringlets. Vivid hand and fingerprints marred his neck, as well as the long patches of rope burn, all of which poked out from around and underneath the dark, chunky collar which was fastened around the poor boy’s neck. The skin around the collar was swollen and inflamed, and the wheezy and whistling breaths indicated that it was set far too tight.

 

To match the horrifying collar, there was a black strip of leather wrapped too tightly around his eyes, it pulled his skin taught, leaving a patch of red irritation as Tony gently reached into the cage to untie it. Peter jerked backwards, his head slamming against the metal bars in his haste to scramble away from the hands invading his tiny space. Tony bit his lip to stop from sobbing as he unravelled the blindfold regardless of the whimpering and dangerously stuttered breath. 

 

When the cloth fell away, finally, and Tony pulled away to let Peter relax slightly, he got to see the eyes he had missed for so long. But Peter’s soft, brown puppy eyes were blown wide with concussion and terror, they darted around like pinballs in his eye sockets and the blood vessels had burst, staining the whites of his eyes red. Tony’s breath hitched, he knew what was most likely to have caused the burst vessels, because it was marked by the obvious strangulation marks around the teen’s neck. The teen had been brutally strangled, a garrotte had been used so violently that it had burst the blood vessels in his eyes.

 

Disregarding the collar and blindfold, Peter was exposed aside from a tattered and bloodstained pair of boxers, which hung low on his protruding hips. Now that Tony’s gaze wandered, he picked up on how skinny and frail the teen was. His elbows and knees quivered, knobbly joints trembling in fear, exposed and heavily outlines ribs, sunken cheek bones, gaunt, ghostly expression due to how underweight and obviously starved Peter was.

 

He was covered in bruises and cuts, his hairline leaking blood and his nose smeared with congealed crimson globs. Tony could see individual nail lines from where someone had raked their fingers up and down the tiny boy’s sides, torso and back. The outline of a handprint was marked over his cheek and backside, as well as protruding from underneath his boxers. What made his blood boil were the clear whip lashes which seemed long since scarred over.

 

“Petey… oh god,” Tony murmured, seething internally as Peter sobbed when his hand reached into the cage.

 

“N’ n’ n’ – g’ ‘way… don’… n’ n’…”

 

_No, no, no – go away… don’t… no, no…_ Tony recognised solemnly.

 

“I’m here Underoos, I won’t hurt you… let me help,” he said softly, bracing himself for a poor reaction when he reached in to get the traumatised child out of the horrid cage. As expected, Peter didn’t react well. He scrunched his eyes shut and howled pitifully as Tony made contact, wrapping him up and gently lifting him from the cage’s entrance. “You’re okay Petey, I’ve got you now. Nobody’s gonna hurt you anymore… you’re okay, you’re okay…” His voice crackled emotionally as Peter began sobbing even harder, more tears cutting trails down his dirty cheeks.

 

“What are tho… _oh_.” Tony looked where Rhodey’s eyeline was, and he held Peter even tighter when he realised what they were looking at.

 

In the same corner that Peter had been cowering, were two bowls, one assumingly for food and the other for water. Each of them were printed with the phrase “ _MUTT SLOP_.” Resting on a hook just beside the cage, was an iron muzzle, faded with rust similarly to the cage door, indicating that both had been used frequently. 

 

Tony cradled Peter closer, he slumped to his knees and pulled the boy into his chest, murmuring phrases in a litany which hopefully broke through whatever conditioning Peter was clouded with. He pressed his forehead against Peter’s and cupped his bruised cheek, promising to take care of him and to never let anyone near him again.

 

Peter continued to bawl, his chest heaving as he panicked and babbled incomprehensibly about not being hurt, apologising, even promising to be good at several different points. Tony carried him down the hall, wincing as the jutting limbs and bones bumped into his own chest.

 

Steve looked horrified when Tony walked onto the jet with a hysterical teenager in his arms, his face buried in his hands as his body was racked with silent sobs. The ride back was noiseless and tense, filled only with Peter’s gasping and Tony’s fruitless attempts to calm him down.

 

“Please, come back to me… it’s Mr. Stark… you know me Peter, you know _yourself._ ” The boy did nothing apart from slowly cry himself into an uneasy sleep, more likely unconsciousness, which he jerked and whimpered through nonetheless. “He needs to get to the Med Bay,” Tony said, rushing through the halls until an operation table was prepped and readied for the teen.

 

He was sedated, considering how much he was screaming and crying, heart-breaking pleas filling the room. Tony sat in the waiting room, his face in his hands and tears running down his arms as he tried his best to conceal them. He wanted the surgery to be over, he wanted Peter to be physically okay… he wanted to have some sort of hope for his mental wellbeing.

 

\----

 

Two days after Peter woke up from surgery and Tony hadn’t left his bedside. He had done nothing but hush the boy’s tears, cradle him after nightmares and memories, hand feed him when he was too terrified of being punished for eating like a person. Tony was waiting for the inevitable stage in which Peter began to cling onto him. He knew there would be an initial period of terror, in which Peter lived like he was still in the cage, locked down into the depths of the cellar, adorned with collars, blindfolds and muzzles.

 

It was a Sunday night and he was pushing Peter’s long curls back, which were fluffy and clean now, smelling like what Tony used to know the teen as. “Hey Petey,” he croaked when the boy blinked wearily, huge doe eyes staring up at him as Peter nuzzled further into the bed sheets, hiding everything but his eyes and up.

 

“Hi…” he whispered meekly, his high and almost inaudible voice made Tony smile proudly, he loved that Peter was doing more than squeaking out petrified noises every few hours.

 

“Hiya… how are you feeling?” He asked softly, taking the teen’s hand and squeezing reassuringly.

 

“M’ okay,” Peter mumbled, blinking a few times before burrowing a little further into Tony’s hand, so the back of his knuckles were grazing the soft, yet still bruised cheeks. He smiled sadly, and Peter looked nervous before he spoke. “Um… m’ – m’ sorry, I jus’ wan’ you to be able to love me again…”

 

Something in Tony broke when he heard that.

 

“I _do_ love you, you’re like my own son… I could never stop loving you, we’ll work through this together, yeah?” Peter nodded sheepishly, letting Tony rest his face against the bed sheets as he sighed.

 

“I remember wh – what you said… th – the first thing you said.” Tony quirked an eyebrow and gestured for Peter to continue. “Y – you asked, ‘where are you?’ I just… I don’t know where I went… I don’t feel like _me,_ and I d – don’t know where _Peter_ went. I just wanna go back to being me.” Tony’s heart ached for the shy admittance, and he wanted to hold his kid tight and never let go, more than he ever had.

 

“You’re here buddy. You’re right here. If you feel lost, I’ll help you find your way back to yourself – because I’ll never let Peter Parker get lost, okay? You mean too much.” Peter flushed and tentatively reached out for Tony’s other hand, initiating contact himself for the very first time.

 

“ _Thank you,_ ” he said shyly, smiling weakly when Tony squeezed his hands and kissed one knuckle on the finger which had to be reset after it was presumably stood on harshly during Peter’s captivity.

 

“You’re here buddy… you’ll always be here, by my side.” Tony rested their foreheads together, feeling the wetness on Peter’s cheeks as he reached up to brush away tears he already knew were falling before he leaned into the embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	5. Major Character Death [NOT REALLY, NOBODY DIES]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Nobody actually dies, I swear on my life.]
> 
>  
> 
> "He’s okay! He’s fine, he – he’s _fine_ Rogers.” Tony’s voice cracked, and his hands stilled from their endless digging, they still shook violently, the man’s whole body racking with sobs.
> 
> [It's fake, just read to understand, enjoy the happy ending because I can't write MCD for the life of me.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:  
> This chapter includes graphic depiction of a [fake] dead body, so please be wary if reading may be triggering/too dark for you in any way! <3 Stay safe <3
> 
>  
> 
> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

Peter had been missing for three and a half days. Tony was up, his hair mussed, not from sleep but stress. The blue light of the computer screen contoured the sunken and dark areas under each of his eyes. He hadn’t slept since the press conference.

 

_“No, I’m telling you he had a suit on, a grey tux with a pale blue tie. He’s fifteen and works as my intern, that’s why he was at the event with me. You can’t seriously say that you aren’t filing a missing person report yet.”_

_“Mr. Stark, you can file a report at this time if you feel like your so –”_

_“My intern.” Tony cut off the officer bluntly, folding his arms and straightening out his shoulders._

_“… your intern, my apologies. You can file a report if you feel like he is in danger.” Tony grit his teeth impassively._

_“Of course he’s in danger, I found his emergency band cut in half in the bathroom. He never takes it off. He knows not to, so someone else must have – meaning he’s in danger.” The officer seemed to keep his mask of sympathy and general respect for an unsteady stakeholder in a kidnapping case, but he didn’t seem to see the situation as a solid ‘case’ as of yet. “What exactly are you and your station going to do about helping me get my intern back home safely?”_

_“We have a multitude of resources and training in these kinds of situations, but we can’t do much until they contact you with a ransom demand.” Tony rubbed his palm over his face and his jaw tensed in reaction as the officer handed him a file. “We normally recommend these kinds of articles, in case you get the ransom call when you aren’t at the station or with an officer, just so you have an idea of what to expect.”_

_“I don’t like to be handed things,” Tony stated bluntly, letting the man slip the paper down at one of the long since emptied dinner tables. “Thanks,” he muttered tiredly, slipping down into one of the many unoccupied chairs. “Where’d you go kid?” Tony whispered to himself, sighing warily._

 

And now, it was three and a half days later. No ransom call, no evidence, not even a trace of any suspicious activity. There was nothing, Peter was _still_ missing.

 

Tony was sat, staring blankly at his computer screen, Dum-E and U whirred sadly behind him, smoothies hadn’t been made in the past three days, and no more would be until Peter made it home.

 

“Good evening, Sir. There appears to be a package for you which is being sent up to the common room.” Tony shifted in his seat, blinking up at the ceiling for a few seconds before his exhausted brain registered F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice.

 

“Okay, who’s sending it up?” He stood from his seat, gripping the edge of the desk until the head spin faded away.

 

“Captain Rogers is in the lift with the package now, your delivery hire was unable to lift the box.” Tony frowned before shrugging and assuming his delivery guy was injured or something similar. He dragged a hand through his hair and tugged the strands until he winced before staggering out towards the common room.

 

“Hey Cap,” Tony murmured, rubbing his eye blearily.

 

“Hey Tony,” Steve said sadly, watching his teammate walking into the room like a barely processing zombie. “Someone dropped this off down by reception and the delivery guy said he couldn’t li –”

 

“Yeah, uh, F.R.I told me. May as well open it now I guess.” The box was a wooden shipping crate, about the height of Tony’s waist and the same width. “No breathing holes, that’s a good sign,” he joked humourlessly, thinking about nothing except getting back to his security camera footage from the press event which Peter had gone missing from.

 

“Need me to?” Steve asked, ignoring the grim humour. Tony waved his arm in blanket permission and watched as Steve pulled the wooden boards off the top and left him to push away the lid. The piece of wood clattered as Tony pushed it aside, he stepped around it to lean over the edge of the box, subtly holding the sides for support as another head spin sent the edges of his vision spotting dangerously.

 

The box was filled with packing foam, small peanuts of blue and purple which smelled of chemicals.

 

“Oh, cool. Packing peanuts, I’ve always wanted a box of these,” Tony muttered sarcastically, picking one up and squishing it between his fingertips lazily.

 

“The box was way too heavy for that to just be filled with foam, whatever you were sent, it’s probably buried at the bottom somewhere.” Steve shrugged, flicking away the packaging which Tony almost dropped as he leaned back over the box.

 

“ _Mhm,_ ” he scoffed, brushing through the foam with his hands. “I bet whatever it is was worth the wait,” he grumbled. He pulled a face when his fingers brushed past something cold, his hand immediately back tracking and beginning to shove away the packing peanuts. He turned to face Steve as he did, “have any of your searches come up with anything new?”

 

The normally stoic blonde seemed to go white, his widening eyes fixed on something Tony was too tired to search for. He opened his mouth to ask again, but Steve’s hand shot out and clamped his wrist, pulling him back from the box. “Hey, Cap what are y –”

 

“Tony…” Steve said gently, his fingers tightening for the briefest of moments before he released as his teammate turned to finally look in the box at what Steve had been gawking at.

 

Amongst the packing foam, pale, blue-lipped and empty eyed, was Peter’s soft face. It stared up, his eyes glazed over and misted, yet very open, and looking at nothing.

 

In life, Peter had a wide smile and bright, doe eyes. In death, he was sheet-white and almost transparent, waxy even. When his pulse thrummed happily against his throat, Peter had been a warm shade, slightly on the paler side, freckled and dotted with beauty marks and tiny moles like constellations. But now, as an unmoving and somehow freshly preserved corpse, he was so plain and visibly _empty_ that Tony couldn’t do much other than choke back a displeased and hoarse curse.

 

“Wh – wh… n – no,” he denied quietly, his voice almost silent, even to the super soldier next to him. “No, _no,_ Peter…”

 

Steve could see his teammates whole body beginning to tremble, quaking and jerky movements as he sucked in air after wretched lungful of air. “Oh god, _kid._ ” Tony leaned even further forward and pushed more foam away. Steve could see the tears beginning to fall down his cheeks, and even though they were beyond warranted, seeing someone so emotionally cut off, vividly sobbing and begging… it was jarring to say the least.

 

“Tony, stop… he – he’s gone, come on. You need t –”

 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Tony screamed, furiously wiping away the tears dripping into the packing foam and showering the common room linoleum with it as he dug through the box. “He’s okay! He’s fine, he – he’s _fine_ Rogers.” Tony’s voice cracked, and his hands stilled from their endless digging, they still shook violently, the man’s whole body racking with sobs.

 

“I’m sorry… Tony, I really am. He was a good k –”

 

“Don’t finish that sentence!” Tony bellowed, gasping as he clutched the edge of the box with one hand and his chest with the other, obviously starving off a panic attack. “Don’t say you’re sorry – he’s okay! You don’t say you’re sorry when h – he – when he’s okay…” Tony trailed off, staring into the box at where the rest of Peter’s body was visible.

 

He was in the same grey suit pants, his white dress shirt was still pristine, no signs of a struggle. His tie was loose, hanging from around his limp neck. His body was curved as if he were merely curled up on the side of the couch after a movie – Tony could still picture the Friday night before the press conference… Peter had dozed off during a movie, and Tony had seen the way his neck was angled, rolled his eyes, and then proceeded to lay the kid out over his lap, carding fingers through his curls.

 

Steve shook his head sadly, reaching a hand out to comfort Tony. The grieving mechanic tore his arm away and ripped the side of the box off, the remainder of the packing foam spilled out in an avalanche. “Peter, kiddie – you’re okay. _You’re okay_!” He hit the floor with a thud, the foam doing barely anything to save his knees as he gently guided Peter’s body from the box.

 

“ _Shh, shh, you’re alright. I got you – you’re okay now…_ ” Tears continued to fall, and Tony’s voice began to crack even more as he placed the young teen’s head in his lap, slowly brushing back his curls and hunching over so their faces were only inches apart as he whispered. “You’re okay, _you have to be okay…_ please, buddy, I – I _need_ you to be okay.” Tony’s hand fell from Peter’s loose curls, instead they lowered to cup both of his ashen cheeks which had once been tinted a rosy shade of pink. “ _Please, please, please oh god… Peter, Pete…_ I – I need you…” He had begun to rock himself and the young boy against his chest, repeating the murmured litany of pleading for his child’s life – the child he hadn’t admitted was like his own.

 

“Bruce… we – we need you, there’s… I don’t know how to say, we uh – we found a body, could you come check it over… or – or something?” Steve lowered his hand from his ear where the comm line was still active from an earlier battle, which Tony had spent in the lab, watching old footage. Once he got the nervous affirmative from Bruce, Steve dropped down to one knee beside Tony, watching him protectively as he continued to gently rock back and forth with Peter still clutched against his chest.

 

This was going to be the hardest trauma for Tony to fight… and as Steve saw the way the billionaire ran the pad of his thumb over the child’s pale cheek, and watched the tears spilling, he knew for absolute certainty that Tony wouldn’t fully recover from Peter’s death.

 

\----

 

“NO! Rhodes let me go! _PETER!_ ” Tony beat a fist against Rhodey’s chest, initially fighting how his friend tried to turn him away from where Peter’s corpse was being transferred to a gurney and wheeled to Bruce’s lab.

 

“He’s gone, you need to calm down and take a breath or you’re going to pass out. Tony? Take. A. Breath.” The panicky breath which Tony took in stuttered and stalled multiple times over, but after quarter of an hour, he had been reduced to a quietly sniffling puddle. “I’m taking you to the penthouse,” Rhodey explained, hoping to god that Tony would be somewhat coherent once he woke.

 

“H – he… _my kid_.” Tony murmured as Rhodey pointed to the bed, not caring when Tony collapsed on the mattress, still fully clothed.

 

“Yeah, I know Tones,” he said sympathetically, turning off the lamp and setting a protocol, so he was alerted if Tony stirred at all throughout the night.

 

\----

 

“What the hell do you mean ‘it’s not real?’” Bruce rubbed his eyes tiredly, having a hushed conversation with Rhodey and Steve after a night of tedious work.

 

“I mean, no lungs, no heart, no damn brain – it’s a hollow corpse, nothing. Not even a puncture wound which indicates that his internal organs could have been drained or harvested. It’s a fake, a clone of the kid, there’s no other explanation.” Steve and Rhodey exchanged a glance before the former spoke up.

 

“So… someone cloned Peter and then… shipped the dead clone to Tony? What does that achieve, where does it get us?” Rhodey ran a hand over his mouth, looking up to the ceiling.

 

“Why the hell would anyone do that? And what are we… _How_ are we telling Tony?” Bruce looked lost, he pulled his glasses off and mimicked Steve’s look of confusion.

 

“I have no idea,” he admitted quietly. “All I know is that he needs to be spoken to sooner rather than later.” As if Bruce had predicted it, F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice piped up and brought a video feed of the penthouse up on the screen beside Rhodey, alerting him of Tony’s consciousness.

 

“I guess I’ll go in and… let him know,” Rhodey muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides before entering the elevator.

 

\----

 

_How could he have let this happen? His fifteen-year-old intern was dead, because of him._

 

“Tones? You alright in there?” Tony stayed silent. “I’m coming in now,” Rhodey warned before carefully pushing open the door. 

 

_You got him killed. He was murdered and shipped back to you because it was. Your. Fault._ He blinked as his sheets came into view, sighing and rolling over to his other side as Rhodey presumably came in to talk to him about grief or something similar.

 

“I need to tell you something, it’s about Peter.” Tony groaned, pulling a pillow over the back of his head as if he could muffle the reality in which Peter Parker’s dead body was shipped to him. There was a physical pain and empty spot in his heart, like a cavity. He couldn’t fill it with hope, or work – because he had Peter’s body, he _knew_ the kid was dead, there was no point in working to find him again, because he was in a body bag in Bruce’s lab.

 

He was a lifeless corpse that didn’t have any Peter Parker left within the hollow shell – it was a mass of flesh and blood, nothing else.

 

Peter was _gone_.

 

“Tony! Are you even listening to me?” The mechanic lifted the corner of the pillow and stared across the room at Rhodey.

 

“No, forgive me if I’m a little distant at the moment. I just held a child’s corpse.” To Tony’s surprise, Rhodey looked more irritated than sympathetic, he took a breath and proceeded to re-explain.

 

“I get that, okay? I do. But if you had _listened_ , I just told you it was a fake.” Tony narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t lie about this, and you know that. Bruce did an autopsy, there were no wounds, no cause of death, and no organs. It’s a clone.”

 

“Why does everything have to be so goddamn difficult?” Tony yelled, muffled from under the pillow. A tiny flame of hope flickered in his chest, he didn’t know if he could handle it being extinguished for a second time. But if he snapped, who was to say that it would even be a bad thing anymore?

 

\----

 

“Boss wants to call in now, but he expects Stark will want proof of life, after the clone was shipped in, he may refuse to pick up.” 

 

Peter rolled his head to the side, his eyes spinning along with the room. He was lightheaded and dizzy; all the blood tests were beginning to take a toll.

 

“Will he even pay? I mean, the child isn’t the most beneficial thing we’ve got against him.” Peter whimpered quietly, scratching the metal bands around his wrists and twisting his ankles weakly. “I guess if we’re persuasive enough, he’ll do anything.”

 

“D’n’t h’rt him…” Peter mumbled, groaning as he felt another surgeon pushing his hair back to take a sample. “M’st’r St’rk’ll come… he ‘lways c’mes,” he heard someone shushing him irritably, but the effort it took to push out two statements was sending him into unconsciousness, and he hoped the men wouldn’t call his mentor while he was so out of it.

 

\----

 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark is not accepting business calls at this ti –”

 

“Miss Potts, I think it would be wise to transfer my call to Tony, seeing as this is the fourth time, and I wouldn’t want Mr. Parker here to suffer because of a miscommunication, hm?” There were seconds of silence before the line clicked and a second dial tone began.

 

“What?” Tony’s voice was wrecked, it sounded hoarse and forced.

 

“I would like to make a proposal, involving the intern.” Tony’s breath caught in his throat.

 

“You have him?” The man on the other line hummed in approval. “You shipped a dead clone of his body to me; do you even realise how _sick_ you are? What the hell did that even achieve if you’re making a ransom deal right now? Huh!?” Tony paused, he deadpanned and grit his teeth. “What was the point?”

 

“You were… distraught, to say the least. No?” Tony furrowed his brows and held back a growl of contempt.

 

“Yes,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

 

“ _Perfect_ ,” the man practically purred. “As you held what you believed to be his body, you realise how much he meant. Or, more importantly, you realise how much you are willing to sacrifice to get him back safely. So, now you know he lives, and that you could potentially bring him home unscathed, mostly, and that’s what I want.”

 

“What do you want?” Tony asked quietly.

 

“What you know you are willing to sacrifice for his wellbeing. Tech, money, information, I don’t mind what it is, but I can easily say no if I know you would be willing to give more. I wouldn’t want to have to… remind you, of a life without your intern.” Tony could hear radio static in the background.

 

“How do I know you have him?”

 

“I can let you speak, it’s in my favour. Absence makes the heart grow stro –”

 

“ _Shut up._ ” Tony snapped, “let me talk to him.” The man didn’t reply, he stayed silent, Tony grew desperate. “I need to… I need to hear his voice.”

 

“H – hey M’st’r St’rk…”

 

“Pete?” The line shifted, obviously being pressed against Peter’s ear. “Hey buddy,” Tony croaked emotionally. “You’re okay?” He asked, tightening his grip on the phone as his voice cracked again.

 

“M’ not havin’ th’ best t’me… but m’ m’naging.” Peter’s voice was slurred, thick with either concussion, drugs or lack of sleep. Tony clutched his cell strongly, needing to hear more.

 

“I miss you kid, I’m getting you home, okay? I swear.” He could hear Peters soft ‘ _mhm_ ’ and he smiled sadly. “Are you hurt at all? Can you tell where you might be?” There was a rustling and a quiet laugh, one that didn’t come from Peter.

 

“ _Go ahead, tell him what you know._ ”

 

“Uh, m’ – m’ somewh’re c’ld… ‘s windy… uh, uhm… I – I don’ know, m’ s’rry.” Tony shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and smiling into the receiver even as tears threatened to spill down his cheeks.

 

“Nothing to be sorry for kiddo, I’m coming. Stay safe for me, know that… know that I love you, m’kay?”

 

“L’ve y’u too,” Peter mumbled hazily, the phone being moved from his ear as the first man took control once again.

 

“Well now that you’ve spoken, what’s he worth Stark?”

 

_Everything._

 

\----

 

Tony watched the jet descending, he held a bag of blueprints to old weapon designs from before Stark Industries’ weapons division was scrapped. The jet would be going too, but that was more for show than anything, the blueprints were what the men were the most pleased with.

 

Why wouldn’t they be? If they had the brains to follow the instructions, they could win a war between any country with one well-aimed missile.

 

That is, if Tony hadn’t altered the blueprints.

 

The jet landed smoothly, three men stepping out as the ramp hit the landing pad. Tony began walking towards them, thrusting the bag into one of their arms and catching the small body that had been pulled down the ramp behind them.

 

“Enjoy an intern as we start mass producing weapons of unimaginable proportions, Mr. Stark.” Tony didn’t respond, too busy pulling a black pillowcase off Peter’s face and smiling as a head of bouncy curls and wide, _seeing_ doe eyes stared back at him.

 

“Hey kiddie,” he whispered as he dropped to his knees and pulled Peter into his chest, his nose nuzzling amongst the wavy brown hair as Peter tentatively wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck.

 

Peter’s skin was warm against his, his small body radiating a healthy heat. His scrawny torso rose and fell with each breath, Tony could feel a pulse underneath his fingertips as one reached up to Peter’s neck, the other encircling his wrist and holding tightly. _Warm. Breathing. Beating. Alive._ The teen looked and felt unhurt, but he still seemed to be a little out of it, like he wasn’t entirely _there_. Tony pulled him closer to his chest and tucked the boy’s chin over his own shoulder, resting his forehead against Peter’s temple. “I’m taking you inside, okay? Can you walk?”

 

“ _Mm_ , prob’ly n’t… m’ k’nda d’zzy.” Tony nodded, watching the jet beginning to take off again, shushing Peter’s whines as the engines hurt his sensitive hearing. He slid an arm under Peter’s knees and another around his waist, scooping him up and pulling him into his chest, letting the boy curl into him and start clinging as he walked them into the compound, deadest on getting him to the Med Bay. 

 

\----

 

Bruce assured Tony that the only problem seemed to be that too much blood had been drawn in order to create the realistic clone, which had blood, but no organs. Peter was hazy for a few hours, Tony stayed in the chair beside his bed, trying to keep the kid asleep by lazily scratching through his wild curls quite happily.

 

But now, Peter was groaning and rolling further into Tony’s hand, his face scrunching up adorably as he slowly opened his eyes.

 

“Hey buddy,” Tony greeted, swirling his fingers in figure eights and watching Peter closing his eyes again, beginning to hum contentedly. “I need to tell you some stuff, that cool?” Peter nodded, purring softly as Tony continued to twirl his curls around in spirals. “I… I thought, for a little while, that they had… that they k –”

 

“Killed me?” Peter finished, looking up. Tony blinked, his fingers stilling in Peter’s hair before the teen bumped back into his palm and he began scratching again. “They showed me before they shipped it, I wanted to tell you, but… yeah.”

 

“I just wanted to say that I love you kiddo, and that you’re like a son. So, yeah… Don’t go getting murdered I guess, I really don’t think I would have fared too well.” Peter laughed, his eyes closing before blinking open and giving Tony the chance to see how wide and bright they were, how warm and hazel they shone under the lights.

 

“Love you too,” Peter smiled, letting his father-figure gently pick up his hand to give it a comforting squeeze. “C – can I ask… what did you give them? You had a bag, and I just… I worried that you were giving up suit designs or something too important.” To his surprise, Tony only smirked.

 

“Wait a few days, then I’ll show you.” Peter smiled softly and nodded, leaning back against the pillow.

 

\----

 

“Kid, c’mere!” Tony yelled, pulling Peter up from his desk chair by his wrist and dragging him through the lab doors, out into the lounge before plonking down on the cushions and grabbing his hand to shake it, pointing his direction at the TV as F.R.I.D.A.Y automatically turned up the volume.

 

“… _and over fourteen warehouse workers were injured today in an accident. The bomb squad has announced that the site seems to have been creating a dangerous nuke, and luckily the device was detonated prematurely, drawing attention to the criminals and eliminating the unknown threat to wherever the bomb would have been dropped. The involved perpetrators are being taken into custody as we speak._ ”

 

Tony turned to Peter, smiling widely.

 

“You’re worth everything, but I’m still a genius after all – as if I would let them all get away, especially after they decided to hurt _you_.” Peter flushed, burying it in a tight embrace which Tony accepted, holding his kid tightly, his fingers unconsciously snaking towards the boy’s pulse point to remind himself. “I would sacrifice _everything_ if it meant I could hold you like this, and not your body.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	6. Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Torture and then movie night fluff? Just regular things every normal family does on a regular basis,_ Tony thought humorously, his eyes flickering between Peter’s marred back and the sleepy smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

Tony ran a hand over Peter’s fluffy and unbrushed curls, sighing defeatedly as Steve rested his forehead against Peter’s. 

 

“He’ll be okay, it’s just a bump.” The blonde assured, running his own fingers through the thatch of curls at the nape of his son’s neck. Tony scoffed, his anger masking the worry festering in his chest. 

 

“Yeah, sure, a pistol whip is comparable to a bump.” He not the inside of his cheek and tilted Peter’s chin up, rubbing a thumb over his cheek where tears had fallen only two hours beforehand. 

 

“What do you think they want from us?” Steve asked, blatantly ignoring Tony’s outburst. 

 

“I don’t know, I just… I’m just worried, okay? I don’t want them to use him as leverage. He doesn’t deserve this.” Steve nodded his head solemnly, brushing a darker strand of hair behind Peter’s ear.

 

“We’re doing everything we can to protect him, and that’s the most we can do until someone gets us out or we do on our own.” The brunette smiled sadly and reached out for Steve’s hand, both of their cuffs jangled quietly but they kept their fingers laced together. 

 

“ _Mmmgh,_ ” Peter’s face scrunched up, he shifted slightly, his chin falling off Tony’s shoulder as he began to unscrew his eyes and blink wearily. 

 

“Hey, hi Bambi.” Peter smiled dopily at the adoring nickname, blinking his doe eyes and looking between his Dad and Pops. 

 

“Mornin’...” he yawned, slurring his words slightly as he stretched before curling up closer into Tony’s chest. “Wha’s happenin’?” Tony and Steve exchanged a nervous glance which Peter was familiar with by now. “What happ’ned?”

 

“We don’t know kiddie, we aren’t sure. But everything’s okay.” Tony rubbed Peter’s arm, kissing the crown of his head gently and resting his chin on it. “How’s your forehead? Any pain?” Peter thought for a moment before lifting two fingers and gingerly prodding at his hairline before he came across the lump and winced slightly. He wiped the matted blood off on his MIT hoodie, well… technically it was his Dad’s, but nobody needed to know that. 

 

“M’ okay,” Peter perked up slightly. “What about you guys?” He seemed to be checking them both over subtly, but Tony just smiled and ruffled his hair, being mindful of the bump. 

 

“We’re okay buddy, don’t worry about us.” Steve squeezed Tony’s hand before letting Peter curl into his side. He lazily traced patterns over the boy’s arm, watching Tony doing the same. 

 

“Why did they restrain you and not me?” Peter asked hesitantly after awhile of silence. Tony glanced up, tightening his jaw minutely. 

 

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment. He didn’t want to voice his concerns, he didn’t want them to be true. 

 

_Chains keep Steve and I here. Peter was free to be taken out of the room without much hassle._

 

Peter noticed the unease in his Dad, he shifted slightly to lean further against his side, his head resting on his upper arm comfortingly. 

 

The three were quiet, Peter tucked between his parents safely. If they hadn’t been closed away in a dim cell, the atmosphere would have been similar to movie night, the three of them curled up on a couch, Tony’s hand in Peter’s curls, Steve’s arm draped over Tony’s shoulder. 

 

But they were in a dim cell, and that was why the red blinking light was so concerning. 

 

Peter peeked out from where he was squished between his parents, Tony gripped his arm protectively, and Steve tried to focus on the footsteps he could hear from outside of the room. 

 

“Peter, you need to stay quiet,” Tony whispered as he observed Steve’s face, dropping into a   
darkening scowl as the door handle twisted downward. Peter nodded curtly, letting Tony pull him closer. 

 

“ _mhm,_ ” he hummed quietly. Burrowing into Tony’s side and pressing his face into his shoulder. 

 

Three men walked in, the first was short and stocky, he had dark hair and his eyes honed in on Peter’s form first, making Steve’s fist clench. The second and third were about the same height as each other, taller than Tony but less so than Steve. They had dirty blonde hair and looked like hyenas, one of them had a mole on their forehead. 

 

“Captain, Stark,” the first greeted with a blank expression, his eyes still on Peter even as he addressed Tony and Steve. “We’re a bit late to start, I’d like to get moving now,” he gestured to Peter, as if he were implying that he had been waiting for him to wake up. “Here’s how this is going to work, from you, Rogers, I need stats and numbers to fully understand the extent of your powers. From Stark, I want a suit designed and built by the end of the week.”

 

Tony snorted, rolling his eyes indignantly. “You laugh now, but the sooner you two can fulfil my requests, the less time your child spends as collateral.” Steve’s scowl deepened, and Tony’s sarcastic laughter cut short, his hand reaching down to grip Peter’s. “You will each be in separate rooms, Stark in the work space, Rogers in the lab and your son will occupy the security office with me.”

 

“Like hell he will,” Tony snapped. The man only sighed and pulled out a device, scrolling a small button upward until there was a jolt and the chains around his and Steve’s wrists began retracting into the wall. The give was only a foot or so, and it only took a minute before both of their wrists were pinned against the wall.

 

“We start now, like I just said. You two will be walked to your respective rooms without defiance, or the boy is punished for your mistakes.” For emphasis, the man crouched before Peter, who was still tucked against his Dad’s arm, which wrenched against its chains. He pointed the same device at him, jerking it upward to indicate that he wanted Peter to stand.

 

“No,” Peter said defiantly, hugging Tony tighter as the man before him raised his lip in a snarl.

 

“You’ve raised a stubborn brat,” he said bluntly, shifting so he could reach something in his back pocket. “He needs to learn his lessons.” The man pulled out a taser, pressing it into Peter’s side before squeezing the activator.

 

Peter seized, and Tony grunted uncomfortably as he received a second-hand shock. Steve was yanking at his chains, but like Tony’s, they had no give. Peter was twitching and jerking, his body fell forward and away from Tony’s, effectively breaking the contact and leaving him as the only one feeling the wrath of the taser.

 

“Stop! We’ll go, we’ll walk! No defiance, we get it.” The taser was pulled from Peter’s side and Steve let out a breath, slumping as he watched his kid sucking in air like a strangled fish.

 

“That’s great, I’ll take your boy to the office now then, so I can trust you to behave as you’re taken to your rooms.” Tony opened his mouth to argue but the man crackled the taser dramatically. “There are cameras which connect the three of you to live feeds, so you can see your son, and he can see you.”

 

Steve tensed his jaw as Peter was pulled to his feet, blinking as if to clear away the remaining pain of the taser.

 

\---- Two Days Later ----

 

Tony flicked up his welding helmet and wiped sweat from his brow, darting his head up to look at the TV screen directly across from his workbench. Peter was fiddling with his hangnails, looking timid as he had the past two days, and Steve was still running, as he also had been forced to do for the past two days. He looked about ready to collapse, he could barely keep up with the lowest speed of the conveyer belt.

 

“You okay Capsicle?” Peter looked up when Tony spoke, his eyes nervously darting to where the first man, who’s name they now knew was Nathan, was scrolling through files on the computer across from him. Steve said nothing, too busy trying to catch his breath. Tony bit his lip and looked back to Peter, worry bursting like a blooming flower in his gut as Steve stumbled slightly.

 

He put down his welding torch, placing his fists on the table and sighing. _This is ridiculous, Nathan isn’t even paying attention and Steve looks like he’s about to pass out._

 

“I’m not working anymore, not until you give him water and a rest.” He growled firmly, folding his arms as Nathan looked up at him under raised eyebrows.

 

“You want a break?” Nathan asked nonchalantly, pulling out a walkie and radioing in two of the scientists marking things down in Steve’s room. “Yeah, take the Captain off, he needs a break.” Tony narrowed his eyes, watching as the treadmill slowed and Steve rested his head against the hand railing, his chest heaving with the effort to suck in a breath.

 

“You can’t torture a person like that for eight hours straight, labour is one thing, experimentation is another.” Tony bit, his protective instincts flaring as he watched Steve kneeling on the floor, stretching his muscles as he was handed a glass of water.

 

“Sure, but nothing beats torture but torture, wouldn’t you agree, Stark?” Nathan leaned forward, blocking Peter from view as he fiddled with the screen before it went black. Tony stiffened, Steve looked up too, sweat beading on his forehead despite the icy cold fear that rushed through him as he lost eyes on his son.

 

“Tony,” he said quietly, looking at him through the camera, his eyes shining with worry.

 

\---- Four Hours Later ----

 

Like the past two nights, Steve and Tony were escorted back to their cells within a minute of each other, the same grimy wall, the same chains, the same dull worry aching their chests as Peter was brought in a few minutes after.

 

But today was different, because it had been over four hours since they last saw their son, and a lot more can happen in four hours than in the span of a few minutes. The red light blinked and both of them sat up straighter, testing the length of their chains until they pulled taught.

 

“… nd that’s why you can blame your parents for this, hm? Understand?” The voices filtered through as the door opened, and Tony tugged harder at his chains when he saw the two men, who he had worked out were guards, walking Peter in.

 

He was being held up by his underarms, completely limp otherwise, his ankles dragging across the floor. Nathan why by his side, a hand around the back of his neck, squeezing as if to comfort him in a twisted way. Peter’s head was hung, he panted breathlessly, and his curls were matted to his forehead, posture wilted and wrecked.

 

“Peter!” Tony called, straining with his chains until Peter was close enough to be laid down across his lap. His shirt was gone, and the MIT hoodie too, but that was the least Tony could care about.

 

Peter’s back was covered in lines of scarlet, majority beaded with blood, only a few strips hadn’t pierced the skin. It looked like someone had taken a metal comb down the length of his back multiple times. “Bambi…” Tony whispered, tilting Peter’s body so he was laying on his stomach and his chin was tucked against Steve’s hip.

 

“Hur’s…” Peter mumbled, barely coherent. Steve shushed him gently, running a hand over his forehead and wiping back the locks of hair which were curling up from the sweat. “M’ sorry,” the teen said quietly.

 

“No, no, don’t ever be sorry about this, it was my fault. God, I should have just… just kept working.” Tony squeezed his fist but took a breath when Steve’s spare hand reached out to squeeze it.

 

“I didn’t want Pops to have t’ run, n’ he said not t’ fight it or he’d make you keep running.” Tony leaned down to press a kiss into Peter’s hairline, loving and yet hating how damn self-sacrificial his kid was.

 

“C’mere,” Tony whispered, pulling Peter closer into his and Steve’s laps, creating a soft ground for him to stretch out on as opposed to the concrete floor. As long as Peter didn’t have to put weight on his back, most of the shallow ones looked as if they should close up n a day or two. “Go to sleep, start recovering, we’ve got you,” he promised, beginning to blow softly over Peter’s raw back, listening to him sigh as the burning seemed to cool. His body relaxed, and Steve could feel it too, Peter’s neck loosened, and he continued running fingers through the tangled, brunette curls that he took after Tony.

 

_I’ll hold you safe, I won’t let you be burnt because of my mistakes, and I’ll set the world on fire just to see you smile._

 

\---- Sixteen Hours Later ----

 

Steve and Tony weren’t complaining, definitely not with Peter curled up in their laps, happily dosing as an escape from his mutilated back, but Nathan and the guards hadn’t show up yet. Normally they were being woken up by the sound of the door pushing open and the dangerous warning of the crackle of the taser.

 

When their door was pushed open this time, they were met with a familiar face.

 

A black suit, stained red, fiery hair and cold, calculating eyes. A set of guns up at the ready, sinking back below her hips when she saw her two teammates and their child.

 

Natasha.

 

“Hey Nat,” Steve said weakly, his voice hoarse from the days he had spent panting as he ran. Tony couldn’t help but grip Peter a little tighter as she walked forwards, it was instinctual. 

 

“Quinjet’s outside, the hallways are clear, and Bruce has his med kit in there for you if you need it,” her eyes flickered to Peter’s back and the fingers around her gun squeezed angrily. “I left a few alive for information, but… I don’t think we need any,” she said coolly as she pulled the device Nathan had kept on him, which was now dripping red, and released the chains. She turned on her heel, steely determination in her eyes as she stalked back out into the hall.

 

Tony and Steve exchanged a glance before the brunette carefully lifted Peter up, his arms and legs wrapping around his torso in his sleep and chin coming up to nuzzle into his father’s pulse point. Steve navigated through the building, going first in case any of the guards were still lurking, and before the two knew it, they were rushing Peter onto the jet and giving Bruce the rundown of what happened as he swiped cloth and pad from a kit, pouring antiseptic over a cotton swap and beginning to disinfect the scratch marks that ran along the entire length of Peter’s back.

 

“He’ll be okay, nothing needs stitches, but a few of the deepest ones will take a while to scab over, so I’ve wrapped them up and he should be okay to move around as normal, aside from sleeping on his back.” Bruce gave a sympathetic smile as Tony rubbed Peter’s cheek gently, Steve shifting to grip the boy’s hand as the jet ascended.

 

“Looks like we’ll have to let him cuddle up on the couch like it’s movie night for a while, huh?” Tony smiled at Steve, staring adoringly at his child.

 

“Well, it’s not the worst outcome of all this, is it?”

 

_Torture and then movie night fluff? Just regular things every normal family does on a regular basis,_ Tony thought humorously, his eyes flickering between Peter’s marred back and the sleepy smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	7. Imprisoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony had tried to keep the kid safe, to shield him from Ross’ guards who were sent out to detain small vigilantes who caused no harm. But apparently it wasn’t enough. Obviously, as much as he wanted to, he hadn’t been able to keep the boy safe, no matter how close they had grown between the accords and now, over a year later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

_Regulations:_

_Enhanced individuals that sign the Accords must register with the UN and provide fingerprints and DNA samples._

_Those with secret identities must reveal their legal names and true identities to the UN._

_Individuals are subject to a power analysis and must wear tracking bracelets if they have powers._

_Enhanced individuals that sign the Accords are prohibited from taking action in any country besides their own unless approved by their home government or the UN._

_Enhanced individuals that use their powers to break the law (including those that defy the rules above) or are deemed a threat to the general public can be detained indefinitely without a trial._

 

Tony stared blankly at the page, blinking vacantly as he stared at the attached form. A warrant which allowed General Ross to detain and imprison a fifteen-year-old child, because he didn’t sign the accords. It was redundant if he _had_ signed them, he was a minor, no contract was legally binding.

 

Steve, along with Tony’s subtle support, had gotten Wanda, Sam, Clint and Scott out of the raft, and now Tony was getting a letter, less than two hours after May had called him in a panic because Peter hadn’t come home after decathlon. He knew it was Ross, he knew he wouldn’t be getting this letter if Ross wasn’t involved.

 

It was bragging rights, or taunting, Tony regretted ever signing those goddamn accords. If he had known that taking Peter to Germany would result in him being targeted and dumped on the raft, he would have burnt them to the ground.

 

Tony had tried to keep the kid safe, to shield him from Ross’ guards who were sent out to detain small vigilantes who caused no harm. But apparently it wasn’t enough. Obviously, as much as he wanted to, he hadn’t been able to keep the boy safe, no matter how close they had grown between the accords and now, over a year later.

 

Peter was smart, hell – he was a genius – he could have gotten into MIT by now, if it weren’t for the fact that he wanted to push through his remaining time at high-school. He was bubbly and loose, always willing to tinker around and play with the bots if Tony was actually busy during their lab sessions.

 

Tony hadn’t been as worried as he was after seeing that letter, since homecoming. He had been terrified when Peter waltzed up for their first lab session, an ache in his previously crushed ribs and a multitude of bruises which must have been bad considering they took over a week to heal. Since then, he had been stricter on mission reports, he answered Peter’s calls himself, listened to his stories from patrol, and then either told the kid to swing by the tower – literally – or, on bad nights, he would fly out to the suit’s location himself to help patch the kid up.

 

He still hadn’t convinced Peter to call him Tony, nowhere even close to it, but he had managed to ease the nerves that the teen had displayed the first month or so he knew him. They had fallen into a relatively easy routine, each Tuesday Peter would be picked up by Happy and had a lab session with Tony, and each Friday he would do the same and stay the night at the tower.

 

On the first Friday of each month, everybody came to the tower for a movie night, and without fail, Tony always ended up with a sleepy spider kid, leant across his lap, dozing happily. There was something strange about how the physical affection was so much more than ‘tolerable’ when it was with Peter, it gave Tony a sense of… protective instincts.

 

When he looked down at the dopey child in his lap, all he wanted was to see him smiling. He wanted all the hurt to go away, he wanted Flash vaporised, petty criminals who just so happened to get a good hit in on a friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man to be demolished, and right now all he could picture was _ending_ general Ross.

 

He regretted not burning the raft to the ground when he had the chance.

 

\----

 

Peter woke up with a headache, his fingers were stiff, and his nose twitched in the cold. He could hear running water in the distance, but nothing else. The odd absence of sound rang clear in his mind when he turned his head and felt a slight resistance.

 

A collar.

 

Metal, thick, a blinking red light that blinked on and off every few seconds. It was supressing his powers, he couldn’t see, hear or sense anything, he wouldn’t be able to heal and he would no longer be able to use walls or ceilings as a viable escape route – unless he managed to find a stairwell or ladder to get up.

 

The pounding in his head made sense now, and so was the fuzzy edge to everything he looked at. He had no ability to heal from a concussion overnight, and no powers to stop him from needing glasses to see.

 

_School, decathlon, Happy’s car… someone pulling him backward by the cuff of his jacket and then… and then blackness._

 

Peter guessed that explained the concussion.

 

He blinked, trying to get used to seeing through the hazy, half-blinding fog that was his poor eyesight. It took him a longer time than he would have liked to admit to figure out whether his cell was open, of if it was a glass wall.

 

The answer didn’t surprise him in the slightest, but the chains keeping him against the back wall as he tried to move did. He coughed as his collar yanked backward as the short chains pulled taught, clinking together roughly as he threw a shaky hand out to steady himself.

 

 _Oh god, no, no, no…_ He reached behind him to tug fruitlessly at the chains. They were lodged deep into the wall, and without his powers he had no chance of even making a crack. He scratched at the collar, feeling his chest rise and fall as he began panting.

 

Panic was swelling in his throat as he felt the chains and the collar keeping him in place, claustrophobia crawling into his skull and squeezing tightly.

 

“Mr. Parker.”

 

He jolted, choking again as the movement yanked his chains and collar back.

 

A man in a blue suit with a red stiped tie was standing outside of his cell, inches away from the glass. He was old enough to have greying and white hair, wrinkles lined horizontally across his forehead and cheeks. Peter felt his body instinctively shrinking back from the man, worry pooling in his gut despite the obvious lack of his spider senses.

 

“I failed to notice up until a few weeks ago, that you fought with Stark, and yet you never signed the accords. You were an undocumented vigilante, and you ran, or more webbed, free for the better part of a year without the legal right to do so.” Peter shivered, pressing back against the wall as the man pressed a finger against the glass. “Thaddeus Ross, I’m the one in charge of you now, considering you didn’t comply with the accords.”

 

“I’m a minor,” Peter whispered, “I couldn’t sign. Contracts signed by minors aren’t legally binding.” Ross smiled slyly.

 

“Well that sounds like a _you_ problem, doesn’t it?” His finger slipped back from the glass, his gaze unwavering.

 

“What do you want?” Peter asked coldly, biting the inside of his cheek and straining against the chains.

 

“There’s no particular rush, the accords state I can detain you indefinitely,” Peter shivered icily. “But I guess if you’d rather know, I want to test the full extent of your abilities, to take you apart and figure out exactly what makes you tick.” Peter couldn’t help but scoff loudly, humour burying his fear for a brief moment.

 

“You just had to use that line, didn’t you?” Ross didn’t look impressed, in fact, he frowned, making the wrinkles around his brows crease.

 

“You remind me of Stark,” he said evenly, shifting his weight onto his opposite foot. “Hiding behind that façade of sarcasm and humour. Although something tells me you’ll be a little more… pliable.” A cold weight settled inside Peter, his fists tightening as he realised, he didn’t have much in his favour.

 

“ _Op room nine is open for your clearance, General._ ” Peter looked up, not missing the way Ross’ lip curled up as he leaned down to a comm beside Peter’s cell door.

 

“Alright, I’ll send him through then, make sure you’ve got the tools prepped.” Peter stiffened up, ready to prepare himself for a fight as he was unchained. Ross took one look at him before snickering. “Like I would be stupid enough to try,” he mocked, pressing his finger on a small screen beside the comm and stepping back, arms folded, to watch.

 

Nothing happened for a moment, Peter wished his hearing was in tune enough to pick up the low hiss as tiny panels flipped in the ceiling, or for his spider senses telling him to hold his breath. The room swept with chemicals and gas, completely clear, so that Peter only caught on when it was already too late.

 

His already blurred vision hazed up even more, his head feeling light and airy as the glass door seemed to push to the side.

 

Three men in gas masks were walking in, but he was already slumped on his hands and knees, hacking and gagging on a sickly-sweet chemical burn in his eyes, nose and mouth. He was too far gone to hear the rattling of his chains or register the hands wrapping harshly around his biceps and waist, tugging him to his feet as his chin hit his chest and everything fogged back out into darkness.

 

\----

 

“I don’t know how the hell you got this thing but thank god you had one laying around.” Tony knocked the metal wall beside him, the noise echoing around the small submarine.

 

“Shuri lent it, so try not to get it blown up,” Clint answered, eyeing Tony who was already in his suit.

 

“I didn’t intend to,” he said lightly, watching the small blip on the screen marking the raft getting closer and closer. “All I want is my kid back.”

 

Surprisingly enough, connecting to the raft wasn’t as much of a hassle as Tony had expected. Sure, it took effort and a somewhat tedious display of stealth, but otherwise the most difficult part was tracking Peter down without running into any of Ross’ employees.

 

The place was crawling with them, especially in the hallways. “They’re like massive cockroaches,” Tony whispered to Rhodey as they hid in one of the marked off operating theatres.

 

Each surgical room was connected to the next, every door needed an access code. Tony took less than forty seconds cracking into them. Steve, Rhodey, Clint and Natasha were the only others who could fit on the submarine, yet they were also the four people that Tony figured were most likely to kill Ross if they got to him before Tony could. He wouldn’t deny the fact that it was likely he would be too busy checking Peter over to kill Ross himself.

 

Rhodey shouldered open a door after he pressed the override key, and Natasha walked in behind him, guns drawn, Clint bow only inches behind her, aimed for the opposite side of the room. Tony pushed them aside as soon as he heard the scuffling and shouting.

 

There were eight men in blue scrubs, Ross was watching through a glass window and he bolted as soon as Tony burst in. The huddle was skittering too, but they cleared, and Tony could see the metal operation table.

 

Peter was laid out, he looked peaceful, pale – but unharmed. There was an oxygen mask strapped over his face, and small sticky tabs which must have been monitoring his pulse. He was dressed in faded grey hospital pants, and his top half was draped with a thick blue sheet, a large white square with a flap removed over his ribcage gave an opening to where Tony could see dotted black lines were marking the area he was about to be operated on.

 

There was a heart monitor, and it was beeping healthily, to his relief. Peter’s lashes were rested against his white cheeks, his chest rose and fell softly, evenly. “Hey bud,” he murmured quietly as he released the faceplate and began to unstick each white pad from Peter’s body. He unstrapped the mask and brushed the teen’s curls back from his face before gently slipping an arm under his knees and another around his torso, lifting him into bridal.

 

“We’ve got a path, Rhodes will keep you covered, get him back to the sub!” Clint called from down the hall, arrows flying haphazardly as Natasha weaved along, clearing guards left and right.

 

“Follow me,” Rhodey yelled, shielding Peter’s body even more than Tony was as he stayed ahead of them, taking each corner first in case of an uncleared room. It took them less time to get back to the submarine, and there were only a handful of guards who tried to give them trouble on the way there.

 

They had only been sitting for several minutes when the rest of the team filed in, no visible wounds – the raft guards obviously weren’t trained then.

 

Peter was still in Tony’s arms, his head resting against the junction of the mechanic’s neck and shoulder, his torso curved in a comfortable arc. His legs were splayed out on a spare seat which was supposed to have been his own seat, but Tony didn’t have the heart to shift such a soundly sleeping Peter.

 

“He’s okay,” Tony hummed as he caught the not-so-subtle worrying glances from his teammates. “Just coming down from the anaesthetics,” he assured, watching each of the team’s bodies relaxing as they caught the small upturn of Peter’s lips. His cheeks were rosier now that he was in a small room with five other people’s body heats mingling, as opposed to his cold cell.

 

Tony shifted slightly, containing an obvious look of adoration as Peter’s neck tilted forward and resulted in his nose nuzzling against his pulse point.

 

_Yeah, the kid was just fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	8. Bullied (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flash can make some deep-cutting remarks... but it only takes a single moment for him to take it a step (or shove) too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

Sometimes, it only takes a single moment.

 

A single action that creates a snowball effect which destroys someone’s life.

 

\----

 

Peter ran past his Dad, bouncing on his heels as his wrist was caught and he was pulled backwards.

 

“Calm down, you’re not going to be late,” Tony said as he ruffled Peter’s hair affectionately.

 

“Dad! I just finished getting it all to stay flat,” he moaned, smacking Tony’s hands away and swinging his bag over his shoulder. “No, I have decathlon, I’m definitely late. MJ’s gonna kill me,” he sighed as he pushed open the lab doors, a pencil shoved haphazardly behind his ear. “I’ll see you after school!” He yelled as he trampled down the hall and took the elevator down to the garage where Happy was waiting.

 

“Hurry up, we were supposed to leave at ten past,” Happy called as Peter threw himself into the backseat.

 

“Sorry, sorry… I got distracted,” he admitted. Happy rolled his eyes as he pulled out onto the street, both Tony and Peter were notorious for getting ‘distracted’ in the lab, tinkering away until someone, normally Rhodey, had to drag them out until they slept.

 

“Yeah, sure.” He grumbled tiredly, merging into the left lane. “Three-thirty, don’t be late to the car again, last time someone stuck gum on the passenger door.” Peter nodded, biting his tongue instead of explaining it was probably Flash again.

 

The drive was peaceful, aside from the nervous energy that bubbled in Peter’s chest, hoping he got a seat next to Ned for the practice, especially considering last time he had to pair up with Flash for a quiz.

 

“Thanks! See you after-school Hap!” He pulled his bag on as he pushed open the door and skipped past a group of kids gathered for a sign-up or something similar. “Hey Ned!” He yipped as he shuffled into the decathlon practice room.

 

“Dude, you’re so dead,” he laughed, nudging Peter as he crouched beside him. Peter quirked his eyebrow in question. “We’re doing a mock run-through and you’re on the same team as him,” Ned nodded to where Flash was re-popping his collar.

 

“Ugh, this is why I need to stop getting here late,” he sighed. Ned laughed and helped him flip to the right page of the textbook. “How big are the teams?” He whispered as the supervisor began taking the role. Ned held up four fingers. “Oh, that’s cool, you and MJ can just be in our team.

 

“No dude, the teacher drew names from a hat like we’re five, said something about wanting the teams to be random and fair.” Ned rolled his eyes and groaned dramatically, straightening up when the teacher gave him a stern look. “We got put with someone else, so that sucks.” Peter huffed and slumped back in his seat.

 

Of _course_ he was the one who got stuck in a group with Flash. He wouldn’t be that mad if he could just float under the radar like every other easy target, but no, he was forced to live with the fact that Flash was _just_ smart enough to be in the decathlon team. He was hanging on by a loose thread as it was, and Peter had overheard the teacher talking about cutting him from the team completely if he wasn’t able to keep up.

 

After a few minutes, everyone had split into pre-assigned groups of three. Peter ducked as Flash glared at him from across their small table.

 

“Who introduced the theory of punctuated equilibrium?” Flash hit their tables buzzer, it was obvious he wanted to prove himself from the get-go.

 

“Haldane and Wright,” he yelled confidently, smirking to himself. Peter winced, he knew the answer himself.

 

“No, it was Gould and Eldredge.” Flash reddened, his scowl deepening, and Peter tensed. Sitting stuck at a table across from a humiliated and angry bully wasn’t his ideal start to the day. “Which kind of mutation _doesn’t_ change the length of the chromosome?”

 

“Inversion,” Peter said quietly when Flash hit the buzzer angrily.

 

“Deletion.” The girl who made up the third member of their team turned to stare at Flash, her face twisted to a look of disbelief when he directly ignored Peter’s answer. The boy reading questions scrunched his nose before speaking.

 

“Uhh… Flash? Would you guys like to reconsider, what did Peter say?” Flash glared darkly.

 

“I read over those notes last night, I _know_ the answer is deletion.” Peter bit back a moan as he realised what was coming. “So, it’s deletion – final answer.”

 

_Why did he have to add the ‘final answer’ on the end there? Couldn’t he have just double checked with the rest of the team out of decency? God…_

 

“Right… well the question was which mutation _doesn’t_ change the length of the chromosome, not what _does_. So, you’re wrong.” The boy reading answers turned to him, “Peter, what did you say first?”

 

“Um… I don’t know, I just thought it was Inversion but it probably isn –”

 

“That’s right, but I can’t give your team the points because… final answer was deletion.” Peter squeezes his fists together beneath the table, he can feel Flash boring holes through his skull as he glares directly at where he hung his head.

 

“It’s cool,” he murmured almost silently, “we all get stuff wrong.” He sees Flash clenching his fists and jaw darkly.

 

“Shut it, _Penis_. The only one getting things wrong around here is the adoption agency.” Peter’s head snapped up, he froze like a useless plank of wood.

 

\----

 

_“I’ll sign.” Tony said finally, his arm still wrapped around Peter’s shoulders._

_“Mr. Stark, don’t feel like you have t –”_

_“No. You’re not going into the system, that’s non-negotiable. Besides, you love the lab… it’ll be just like over break, I promise. Nothing has to change kiddo.” Peter sniffled and rubbed an already dampened sweater cuff under his eyes, hiccupping softly as he nodded. “I think he needs rest, we can’t go over the legalities now,” Tony said softly to the woman assigned to Peter’s case. She nodded solemnly, printed some forms and informational booklets on adoption, one on the process of grieving which he tucked away before Peter could see and break into another quiet bout of sobs._

_Tony kept a protective arm around Peter’s shoulders as he guided him out of the ER, specifically taking a longer route so they didn’t pass the room where May’s heart monitor was showing nothing but a flat line._

_“M’ sorry,” Peter whispered as Tony climbed into the backseat after him._

_“Don’t ever be sorry. This isn’t your fault at all, and besides…” he tapped Peter’s palm and smiled weakly as the red nosed teen looked up at him. “It’ll be handy to have my lab assistant living with me, huh?” Peter smiled feebly, shrugging his shoulders._

_“I – I guess. I just don’t want you to feel like I was dumped on you, I mean… you kinda have bigger priorities than taking care of someone like me, a random kid from Queens.”_

_“Some people might think ‘bigger priorities,’ but all I see are boring meetings that eat up lab time with my best intern slash spiderling.” Peter looked down at his lap, fiddling with his seatbelt._

_“Thank you,” he said softly, his shaky hands blurring as more tears welled._

 

\----

 

“Mr. Thompson, I think we can all agree to leave personal issues _outside_ the classroom, if at all.” The supervisor snapped irritably, ignoring the quiet mutters from the other decathlon participants as Flash folded his arms and slumped in his seat. Peter’s senses dully throbbed before he felt an ankle drive into his shin, he looked up.

 

“ _You’re dead._ ” Peter looked back down at his lap, patiently waiting out the class by keeping his mouth shut and only answering the questions when he was directly called on.

 

“Dude,” Ned exclaimed as they sauntered out of the practice room, Peter tripping over his own feet when Flash shoved out of the doorway as he did. “Flash is totally gonna get booted, he can’t answer anything _and_ he annoys the supervisor every practice, no way is he gonna be taken to nationals this year.”

 

“Yeah, maybe…” Peter muttered, opening his locker and pulling out his textbooks. “He would probably be fine if he at least listened to the question first.” 

 

Lockers slammed, bags dropped to the linoleum and Peter blurred through three classes and then spent first break in the band room with Ned. Everything was fine up until English, he had Flash in his English class.

 

English sailed without much of a hitch, Peter sat in the middle of the classroom whereas Flash sat at the back, so he could do whatever it was that he did on his laptop without the teacher seeing. Peter’s phone buzzed silently, and he flicked it on to see a text from his Dad.

 

_You cool if we swing by the pizza place you like on the way home? I convinced Hap._

 

Peter smiled and replied with an enthusiastic amount of exclamation marks. The bell snapped him out of his excitable stupor, and as the rest of the class began stuffing laptops and books into their bags, he sent a blue circle emoji to Tony.

 

_It was their heart. Because Peter always saw the reactor as the strongest heart he grew to love as much as he had previously admired._

 

He swung his bag over his shoulder and stood to leave, now one of the last students exiting the classroom, along with the teacher who had rushed off to either a meeting or lunchtime monitor duty.

 

Peter tensed up when his senses blared weakly in warning, a few moments later something gripped his opposite bag strap. He sighed heavily as he turned to face Flash, instinctually leaning back slightly, so his weight rested on his back foot.

 

“You got me kicked off decathlon, Parker,” Flash spat angrily. Peter flinched but stood his ground.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you off the team, but the coach has been struggling with commitment anyway… I was just answering a question, I really wasn’t trying to be an asshole.” Flash narrowed his eyes and jerked a finger out to poke Peter’s chest.

 

“Yeah, maybe you should just learn to keep your mouth shut. You’re one to talk too you know, remember last year – you ditched the entire decathlon, not to mention getting me stuck as a reserve at the last minute.” Peter rubbed his arm nervously, he didn’t like how close Flash was standing, or how squashed he felt with a desk on either side of him.

 

“I didn’t know you were going to be reserve,” he murmured.

 

“Oh, just like how you’re a reserve publicity stunt in case Stark’s ratings take a dive?” Peter took a small step back, his mind buzzing. “You’re just favoured because you’re a second choice, or a third I guess, first your parents, then your uncle, and now aunt too? Do you know how pathetic that is?” Peter opened his mouth to defend himself, but the second bell cut him off, catching Flash’s interest as he stiffened up and took a step forward, assumingly to push past again.

 

\----

 

_It’s almost bittersweet, how fast life can change – how unexpectedly things can turn. Its why people try to love while they have the time, when they can, as much as they can._

_That’s what Tony wished he could have done, had more time to do._

 

\----

 

Flash careened past Peter, his shoulder slamming into the teen’s side.

 

Peter stepped back on instinct, his foot catching on a chair leg. He could hear his senses picking up into a roar, but he didn’t know why until the chair leg twisted his leg awkwardly and he lost his balance.

 

He fell backward.

 

His head hit the corner of a desk with an audible and sickening crack.

 

Flash barely looked back as he jogged to lunch, more worried about cafeteria food running out then the small section of Peter’s head which was now matted in dark blood.

 

\----

 

Tony got the call when he was about twenty minutes from leaving to pick Peter up. He dropped everything quicker than he meant to, and Happy didn’t seem bothered breaking several laws as he drove to midtown, a panicky father in the back of the car.

 

There was an ambulance with three EMT’s carrying a stretcher into the back of it when Happy pulled up and Tony burst out, his eyes blown wide with fear as he saw the small, limp body being loaded into the ambulance.

 

“That’s my son!” He yelled as he pushed past a crowd of students who were ogling interestedly, half of their phones out as Tony clambered into the vehicle and grabbed Peter’s hand.

 

“GCS of 3T,” one of the medics yelled, clicking away a small light after dropping Peter’s eyelids. “We’re going to need a CT scan. Call in for a ventriculostomy and hemicraniectomy, we’re only a few minutes out.” Tony gripped Peter’s hand as the medics called out strings of information that he couldn’t even begin to interpret.

 

His head felt like it was pounding, his mouth was fuzzy, and everything was numb aside from the hand he was squeezing in his own. As much as he wanted out of the small space, Tony needed to stay glued to Peter’s side until he didn’t look so close to death.

 

\----

 

“Unfortunately, after the two medical procedures and the negative corneal response… we had to place your son in a medically induced coma for up to two weeks, his brain suffered trauma from the injury and we needed to drain some fluids from inside his skull.” Tony nodded blankly, still staring at where his hand was twirling one of Peter’s loose curls around his finger. The doctor seemed to understand that Tony needed to be alone with his child, because he left the room promptly.

 

“I’m going to get him expelled. He’ll be blacklisted from every damn college in the country. I swear to god kid, I thought that I couldn’t get angrier than last time you came home with a bruise, and now this?” Tony seethed, only releasing his contact with the peaceful teen so that he could pull up every piece of security footage and information on one Flash Thompson.

 

“Nobody gets away with laying a finger on you buddy, I swear on everything, nobody’s hurting you ever again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	9. Coma (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A smol continuation of last chapter, and also covering the prompt 'coma' whilst I'm at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughhh hnngg I'm so sorry this is like 600 words shorter than normal, pls don't be mad! I just wanna get as many asks done as possible and pulling another 3AMer is probably not the most ideallll :')  
> *screams*  
> \----
> 
> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

It had been just over half a week, and Peter’s Glasgow Coma Scale score had only increased from a three to a seven. Tony just wanted it to climb back up to fifteen. He wanted his son to blink, or to smile, to look at him and be able to respond without mumbling incomprehensibly on the rare occasion.

 

“Mr. Stark, we understand this is difficult for you, and that Peter’s GCS score wasn’t what you were wanting to hear,” the doctor paused, waiting for Tony to perhaps turn away from Peter’s form and look at him. The mechanic did nothing, just continued to run a finger up and around his wrist bones. “But we need you to remember that his LCFS was exactly what we wanted to see.”

 

“What’s an LCFS?” Tony croaked, his throat dry and raw from how much he had been shoving down the lump.

 

“It stands for Level of Cognitive Functioning Scale. Peter scored II generalised. Do you understand what that means?” Tony took a moment to run the pad of his thumb over a splattering of tiny freckles along Peter’s elbow before shaking his head slowly. “It means that he reacts to certain stimuli, like pain and occasionally voices or harsh lighting, although inconsistent. He has made a further step by demonstrating the ability to withdraw an extremity from pain, and you told us that there was an instance of him speaking, last night?”

 

“Uh, y – yeah. He was just mumbling, nothing really made sense though. It was gibberish.” The doctor nodded and jotted something down on his clipboard.

 

“That’s perfect, its indicative of how he’s progressing from no response, to generalised response, and hopefully now Peter will be able to move forward into the localised response.” Tony looked up, hopeful, and the doctor could tell he wanted more information. “What we refer to as localised response are when the patient begins to follow simple commands, they would still be inconsistent and likely delayed, but a few examples could be squeezing someone’s hand and blinking for yes or no.” Tony looked over at Peter, his lashes resting softly against his pale cheeks, lips parted slightly as his chest rose and fell.

 

“He would likely open his eyes and show a sort of awareness for his own body and other people in the room. It’s also quite common for patients to display bias, often they’ll respond to close family but not as well for the doctors and nurses.” Tony nodded, hoping that Peter would get well enough to squeeze his hand back soon enough. “Normally they flick between the minimally conscious state I just described, and periods of regular sleep. Sometimes this presents us with a bit of trouble, just because some patients roll around in their sleep and can disturb the IV or heart monitor pads.”

 

“He’s always been a relatively deep sleeper, he fidgets a lot as he’s falling asleep, but once he’s done, he stays in one place.” Tony was very familiar with Peter’s sleeping habits by now, especially considering how often he could feel a lightly dozing spiderling turning over in his lap and nuzzling closer into his body heat during movie nights.

 

“That’s great, I’ll check his vitals now and then leave you with the call button for when he starts to show anymore signs of waking up.” Tony nodded and squeezed Peter’s hand as if expecting a response straight away.

 

“You’re doing great buddy,” he whispered. “Just hurry up and open your eyes, so I can spill the good news to you.” He tapped an impatient finger over the armrest on his chair, his eyes glancing in Peter’s direction every second or so.

 

He was looking down at his phone, re-reading the same letter again, and again. He knew that morally, hacking into somebody’s emails wasn’t the _best_ thing he could have done, but he needed to be sure that the school had followed through and sent the letter of expulsion out to Flash’s parents.

 

Although the bully’s record was marked with ‘voluntarily withdrawn,’ as if he had made the choice to leave the school himself, Tony had the letter of expulsion, so if he ever decided to even _look_ in Peter’s direction again… that could easily be ‘leaked’ to the press.

 

Tony didn’t have any remorse for the boy, even if he claimed it was unintentional, the shove was on purpose and despite the fact that he hadn’t meant for Peter’s skull to bounce off the edge of a wooden desk, it still happened – and he deserved to be expelled. Happy didn’t seem to disagree, in fact, he had practically asked Tony if he thought the boy needed a chat from Iron Man. That idea had toed the line a bit, and honestly, the only thing stopping him from burning Flash to a crisp, was the fact that Peter always believed in second chances, and he would never forgive himself if he woke up and found out that his Dad had barbequed his bully for him.

 

And so, Tony sat, silently wishing that Flash had never wormed his way into Peter’s classes, while also gently clutching his kid’s hand in his.

 

\----

 

It took another day and a half before Tony was reaching over and hurriedly pressing the call button as Peter’s eyelids flickered open.

 

“Pete,” he said softly, smiling when the teen sluggishly rolled his head a few seconds later. “Hey,” he murmured, still holding the kid’s hand as it began to tense and untense.

 

“ _Mmrp_?” Peter slurred, blinking listlessly as the doctor walked in.

 

“Good evening Peter, we’re all very happy you’re awake.” Peter didn’t say anything, only let his eyes drift to Tony’s. “Would you mind seeing if you can squeeze your father’s hand for me?”

 

Peter made a small sound before his fingers tightened slightly around Tony’s his eyes scrunching up before they opened again, and a tiny smile curved at the edges of his lips. The doctor turned to look at Tony and he gave him a nod in confirmation. “Perfect,” he praised, “now I’ll just ask a few simple yes or no questions, squeeze once for yes and two for no.” He paused, looking up for confirmation. Tony laughed lightly when he felt a single squeeze.

 

“He says he understands.”

 

“Do you have any pain in your head?” There was a pause, then Tony nodded. “Anywhere else?” Tony smiled and shook his head, obviously relieved that his kid wasn’t hurting. “Do you remember how you hit your head?”

 

“ _Mmng…_ ” Peter groaned, shifting slightly and tilting closer to Tony. “N’t m’ch…” he managed, to the doctor’s surprise. Tony wasn’t as shocked, he had actually been worrying away about how he would be able to explain the almost immediate recovery that his scrawny little spider-kid would no doubt make.

 

“Ah, okay then, that’s great. I’m just going to begin weaning you off a few of the drugs we’ve got you on for the pain. Let me know if you need anything else and call us if you want to use the restroom.” Tony nodded in thanks and squeezed Peter’s hand as he lifted his opposite and waved a small goodbye, which the doctor seemed to think was impressive.

 

“H – e – ey Dad,” Peter croaked.

 

“You’re such a little shit,” Tony laughed as he stood from the chair and pulled Peter into a gentle hug. “You scared the crap out of me,” he sighed, kissing the side of Peter’s head comfortingly.

 

“Consider it a week ‘n a half long nap.” Tony rolled his eyes but cupped Peter’s head closer over his shoulder.

 

“I got him expelled, but I refrained from barbequing him for you.” Peter choked out a small laugh, mumbling his thanks. “But don’t think I’m not keeping some stuff on him in case he decides to keep hassling you, _at all._

 

“You’re a good helicopter parent,” Peter teased. “We should probably transfer to the Med Bay though, huh?” Tony nodded, his chin nudging Peter’s curls slightly.

 

“Definitely, everyone there has signed non-disclosure forms and stuff, so there isn’t any worry if someone stumbles in on you sitting on the ceiling like last time.” Peter huffed, pulling back and fixing Tony with a mock glare.

 

“Hey, I had a fever and I was just trying to stretch my legs, no fair.” Tony reached up and carefully pushed some of Peter’s curl back from his face.

 

“Let’s get you transferred so your recovery seems less mysterious, huh?” Peter nodded tiredly, leaning forward and resting his cheek on his Dad’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	10. Head Trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Peter did was walk home on his own, trust the kid to be flown home with a concussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

“I know Dad, I’m just walking past the subway now, I’ll be another half hour maybe?” Peter scrounged around at the bottom of his school bag as he spoke, “I’m sorry, I lost track of time and the next thing I knew they were closing the library and I had to shove all my books in my bag and it was a hassle to even get out of there before it locked.” He heard Tony laughing softly, Dum-E sounded like he was whirring happily in the background. “I’ll text you when I get off the train, okay?”

 

“ _Sure buddy, just call me if anything weird happens. It’s dark and people get weird at night._ ” Peter huffed lightly, a smile on his face.

 

“Yeah, I know. Don’t stress, I’ll be fine, okay? Spider-Man, remember Dad?” Peter absentmindedly ran a hand over his left sleeve, feeling the bumps of his web shooter. “See you soon, love ya – bye!”

 

“ _See ya kiddo._ ” Peter pocketed his phone and bounded onto his train, which he would have missed if he had messed around for too long. There were only three other people, two of them looked like they were only just getting home from work, probably a business meeting that ran late. The other person was just wearing normal clothes, rather than a business suit.

 

Peter looked down at his phone when it buzzed, Tony had sent him a picture of a comic con Spidey on the subway, looking severely out of place amongst the normally dressed passengers. He smirked and sent an emoji reaction as he shoved one headphone into his ear.

 

The train ride was quiet, it felt shorter than usual, although that was probably because he was in no rush. When it was his stop, he was one of the last people to get off. He stepped out onto the empty platform and shivered as he walked up the stairwell to get to the street. His breath hung in the air and he wished he had brought his scarf, or another layer of clothing. His fingers felt stiff and he folded them into the cuffs of his jacket.

 

There was little light from the streets, the only thing preventing the long shadows were the occasional shops which hadn’t closed for the night yet. Peter closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself tightly, ignoring the distant thrumming of his senses.

 

He wandered along the footpath, occasionally flicking the flashlight in his phone on as he walked past dark alleys. The sheer atmosphere of walking alone at night was making his senses unhappy, they buzzed at the back of his skull, demanding attention.

 

“No, no man… yeah – yeah I _got_ it. I know the plan… no I will not repeat it back to you.”

 

Peter slowed as he picked up on a phone conversation up at the next dark alley. It sounded as though someone was doing a drug trade, but Peter knew New York did house a few other nasty people doing bad things. “Fine, jeez. The plan is to grab him, knock ‘em out, then throw him in the van, okay? You happy now?” Peter raised his brows and stepped closer, adjusting his shooters in case this tuned out to be a real kidnapping. He crept along the brick, slipping all the way to the very edge of where the man on the phone wouldn’t have been able to hear or see him.

 

He heard the crunching noise of someone’s foot twisting and stomping out a cigarette. Peter wrinkled his nose when the smoky smell hit him hard. The phone clicked when it shut off, and Peter stiffened up, worrying that the man was going to come around the corner. He listened, and he could tell clearly that the man was reloading his gun. Peter unzipped his bag and pulled his mask on in retaliation.

 

He stuck to the brick and climbed up it, ending near the roof and looking down to where there was a blue van with tinted windows parked in the alley, and Peter could make out the man’s figure. He was tall, muscular, he probably could have passed as a normal, innocent civilian if he hadn’t been holding a gun in a dark alley, leant against a creepy van.

 

“You know,” Peter began as he pushed off the ledge and landed on his feet, “kidnapping isn’t the friendliest thing you could be doing on a night like this.” The man snapped up, his grip on the gun fumbling almost comically for a moment.

 

“Boss, I got eyes – _I got eyes!_ ”

 

“Sure you do buddy,” Peter sighed, webbing the man to the side of the van and kicked his gun away expertly before webbing that to the floor as well. “Why does everyone want to kidnap people, it’s so cliché at this point.” Karen was alerting the police as Peter spoke, but despite everything, his senses were still throbbing dangerously at the back of his head.

 

“Screw you Spider-Man! You’re going to regret this!” Peter rolled his eyes from behind the mask, but he was on edge now because of his senses, and nothing could change that. He backed up, slinking into the shadows and crawling his way back to the roof of the opposite building, planning on calling Tony to explain and waiting until the cops showed up. He tapped a knuckle against the ground and swung his feet over the ledge as his mask dialled his father.

 

“Hey kid, what’s up?” Peter relaxed marginally at hearing Tony’s voice, letting his guard down and leaning back on one arm as he watched the man against the van struggling against his webs half-heartedly.

 

“Not much, just calling to let you know I’ll be home a tiny bit later, I just had to stop some shady dude in an alleyway and now I’m just hanging out till the cops get here.” He heard Tony sighing fondly through the call and he smiled.

 

“I’m gonna fly over, may as well give you a lift home with the suit anyway,” Peter grinned widely, he loved rides clinging onto Tony’s suit, it was the best feeling.

 

“Okay that sound good Dad, I’ll see you in abo –”

 

“Who’s got eyes now, _Spider-kid_?” Peter stiffened and immediately swivelled in time to see a glowing blue rectangle attached to someone’s fist. It slammed into the side of his head and he grunted as sparks of pain stuttered around his body, _an electric shock_ he noted dully as he fell from the roof of the building.

 

His shoulder hits a fire escape on his way back down, he felt the bone popping out of place and he have a strangled cry of pain before his body hit the ground like a sack of bricks. The world swam around him, his fingers still twitching from the aftershock of the electrocution. He could hear foggy laughing coming from the van where the first man was webbed, and loud, clanging footsteps descending the fire escape from above him.

 

“…ter? Peter!? What’s happening? Talk to me!” He groaned weakly, his Dad’s voice too loud in his throbbing skull.

 

“Aghh… what the hell?” He grumbled, forcing his good arm underneath him, so he could pull himself to his feet. Everything was spinning wildly around him when he finally got into an upright position on both his feet. He groaned, and the sound echoed almost as much as the second threat’s footsteps did as he jumped the last four steps to the ground.

 

Peter couldn’t see much from the left side of his mask; the shock must have messed with the suits wiring in the left eye. “M’ cool… m’ good,” he slurred slightly, stumbling on his feet but forcing himself to shove aside the pain in his shoulder as he straightened out to face the man wearing the shocker-type weapon.

 

“How’s it goin’ spidey?” The man asked as he stalked closer, the blue light and tiny taser beams glowing menacingly in the dark shadows of the alley.

 

“Peter, I’m only four minutes out,” Tony hissed worriedly as the sound of heavy booted footfalls came closer.

 

The man swung at Peter, but he skittered to the left and drove his good arm’s elbow into his side, pulling a pained grunt from him before he got the weight of his weapon carrying arm back in control.

 

He threw a punch and Peter flipped backwards away from it, feeling his head pounding in retaliation of that much movement. He stumbled clumsily at the end of his flip, only barely managing to duck under the third swing as the man – who he now remembered as ‘the shocker’ – lashed out once again.

 

He yelled angrily when Peter kept on the outskirts, putting as much energy into dodging the blows and staying on the defensive as he could. His head screamed before the shocker raised his fist, and Peter threw his arms up to block the blow, but it struck lower than intended and he was being thrown back, his body slamming into the back wall of the alley, his entire torso on fire from the harsh blow.

 

“Ugh… agh,” he groaned, falling forward to the concrete and yelping as his dislocated shoulder was jarred. He could distantly hear Tony yelling through his mask, but his head was screaming in pain so loudly that he couldn’t hear his own senses, let alone Tony.

 

“I just did it for the money,” shocker grunted as he pushed Peter onto his back with the heel of his boot. Peter gasped when his ribs jaggedly rubbed against each other. “I only ever did it for the money, I never hurt nobody that bad – and you still felt the need to go and ruin it for me, didn’t you?”

 

“Agh… ah, _ah_ …” Peter gurgled, his breath fizzling in his throat before it could reach his lungs.

 

“You’re supposed to be a challenge, you were for Toomes! Get up,” Peter cried out when a kick prodded his already shattered ribs. “Get up and _fight_!”

 

Peter could vaguely pick up the sound of repulsors in the distance, but something was humming far to close and fast, whizzing by his ear and connecting with his temple as a white-hot flare of agony exploded throughout his entire skull.

 

He screamed, hearing more noises that vaguely sounded like a fight, seeing flashes of electric blue and familiar red and gold colliding with each other, dancing around the alley and keeping away from where he had let his body fall weak and limp against the asphalt.

 

Time faded past him, blood rushing and throbbing in his ears, too many sensations being blocked out by the aching in his head. He couldn’t even summon the energy to blink properly, he just rolled his eyes around in his skull and licked his lips sluggishly.

 

“Peter, Pete, kid – look here, focus up buddy.” He felt something smooth and warm against his cheek, a gentle and almost weightless sensation as his mask was slid carefully off his face. A tiny part of him was worried that his identity was on display, but then he felt somebody running hands through his hair, checking for wounds, slipping under his shirt and assumingly assessing the damage done to his ribs. “Okay… okay, stay really still for me and I swear this will only take a second…”

 

The junction where his shoulder met his arm was pressed on, and he heard a sickening pop as it was slid back into place, a dull flare of pain making him groan before he felt Tony’s hand on his. “I’m gonna lift you up, okay? Give you a little ride back to the compound before the cops show up.”

 

Peter mumbled incoherently but looped his arms around Tony’s neck, feeling the suit lifting him up gently. He leaned forward, gripping onto the back of the metal neck and resting his screaming forehead against the cool surface as he felt the world tumbling and spinning while they flew carefully back home.

 

“You’re gonna be good, okay?” Peter made a soft noise and tightened his grip on the metal arm, his nails scraping over the paint. “Only you could stop a kidnapper and then get a concussion walking home from school.” Peter huffed a tired laugh, humming when he heard the clank and felt the ground beneath him as Tony threw an arm around his waist and kept him upright. 

 

“M’ good… m’ gon be cool.” He murmured, lolling his head back against Tony’s shoulder.

 

“You’re the worst liar.” Peter smiled innocently, his eyes still closed against the blaring light.

 

“Does this mean I can’t sleep?” Tony laughed, rolling his eyes because of course sleep was   
the one thing Peter was worried about. 

 

“That’s a myth,” he corrected, “you can sleep but I have to wake you up every two hours.” Peter groaned inwardly, sighing heavily. “Oh, calm down, all I have to do to wake you up is stop playing with your hair.”

 

“ _Mhmm_.” Peter let Tony lift him onto the couch, stuffing pillows beneath his neck and gently tipping his legs across two more cushions.

 

“I’m getting supplies, don’t try to move around too much in case you hurt your ribs any more.” Peter made a quiet hum of understanding and Tony gave him a final check over before running to the freezer for an ice pack and a first aid kit under the sink. “I swear kid, if this concussion doesn’t fade within a week, I’m gonna start getting Happy to pick you up again.” Peter grumbled softly but loosened up when he felt the weight shifting beside him which proved Tony was there to patch him up.

 

“I’m just going to ice your ribs, give your eyebrow a butterfly bandage and then curl up with you, so I can make sure you’re awake every two hours.” Peter smiled and only winced when the coldness of the icepack touched his chest. “You happy napping on the couch tonight?” Peter nodded, letting his face rest against his Dad’s shoulder once his butterfly bandage was secured. “Okay sleepy,” Tony whispered, “get some rest.”

 

“M’kay… love you,” Peter mumbled.

 

“Love you too kiddie, sleep well.” Tony rested a hand in Peter’s curls, running his fingers through them gently and smiling to himself when the unmistakable vibrations picked up in Peter’s chest. He knew the purring was unconscious, Peter couldn’t control it when he was asleep, but it was still the most adorable thing he did on a daily basis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	11. Amnesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brain can survive for up to about six minutes after the heart stops. After about six minutes without CPR, however, the brain begins to die. When parts of the brain begin to shut down, memories can be lost. _Important_ memories

It had been a normal mission, get the civilians out of the way, web them up. None of the men were supposed to know how to work a gun, there shouldn’t have even _been_ guns. But there were, and Tony hadn’t been fast enough.

 

\----

 

“How’s it going on your end?” Tony called, the crackle of the comms was comforting as he fought his own little collection of bad guys. The comms meant he could hear what was happening to Peter where he was further up the street.

 

“It’s fine, I mean – some of them have guns that I didn’t notice earlier, but nothing I haven’t handled before.”

 

“Guns?” _When did guns get brought into this fight?_ They had taken out the weapons truck before it even got two blocks. None of the men should have been armed, that’s why he let Peter help out for this mission, there wasn’t any danger.

 

“Well, yeah. Just a few handguns and one bigger one, but most of them ran anyway. Don’t worry I webbed them up – just the actual guys holding the guns are kinda annoying because the bullets rip through my webbing.” That wasn’t normal, how were they breaking his webbing. “They might be those leftover alien things from the Vulture incident?”

 

“Okay, hold on I’ll just finish my guys off but I’m heading over really soon.” Tony said firmly, blasting at his last man, gritting his teeth when his target managed to duck behind a car at the last minute.

 

“Uh – no you don’t have to hurry I think I have it sort – _ah!_ ” There was a bang, then a muffled noise that sounded suspiciously like Peter had fallen, which set off massive red flags for Tony.

 

“Peter? What was that? I’m coming now!” There was a beat, then the click of his comm turning back on, making his heart jump into his throat.

 

“Nothing, one of the guys just… – uh, I think he has really good aim because he shot at my web and it snapped… and I fell onto a car, so I hope whoever owns that has, like, Spidey insurance, cus I cracked the windscreen and put a dent in the roof.” Tony let out a relieved sigh.

 

“You’re rambling, focus on the fight. I’m on my way now, I got your location.” He charged his repulsors and took down his last guy by shooting the car next to him and sending a wheel into his stomach, effectively knocking him down. He flew the two minutes toward Peter, and true to the kid’s word, there were several men, one of which was holding a gun bigger than he could easily carry, surrounded by a few more men holding normal looking weapons.

 

Peter was swinging around them, sticking to buildings every few seconds and shooting quips at them before jumping to the next window and laughing as their hits missed him and shattered the windows. “Hey Spider-Man, looks like you’re having fun with these guys but I’m gonna step in now.” Tony smiled beneath his mask when he saw Peter’s eyes narrowing playfully. 

 

He walked toward the men, their bullets bouncing off his reinforced armour without leaving more than a metallic clinking noise. He looked at them and wished he had listened to Peter when he suggested altering the Iron Man mask so it’s eyes could narrow like the Spidey suit could. “Did your school ever taught you about gun safety, or perhaps just the law in general?” He asked.

 

“You suck, Iron Man!” One of the men screamed as he reloaded while two more continued to shoot, not letting up despite how little effect their bullets were obviously having. The man ducking behind a fire hydrant grew wary as the fight continued, and eventually he threw his gun across the street before attempting to sprint off behind a building, assumingly to hide.

 

“I got that one!” Peter called eagerly, swinging past the men Tony was handling, in pursuit of the runner.

 

“Have at ‘em,” Tony yelled back, pointing his attention back at the group of men in font of him, still waving their weapons around. “You get those things from Toomes?” His answer comprised of another flurry of bullets in his direction and he couldn’t help but laugh at their pitiful effort to hold him off. “You guys really love property damage, don’t you?” He walked forward, feeling increasingly more indestructible, the longer his suit went without being pierced by any useless bullets.

 

He grabbed the guns from two men, angrily throwing them aside before hitting them both in the sternum, sending them gasping for air on the ground. There were still two men covering the third with the larger gun, but Tony sent two precise projectiles from the shoulders of his suit before shooting the alien tech from the final man’s arms, shattering it with another blast.

 

He reached forward and grabbed the collar of the man’s shirt, lifting him up with one fist raised. “Did you, or did you not, get that from Toomes?” The man squirmed, grunting and couging hen Tony squeezed a little tighter.

 

“Of course we did, what other alien tech dealer exists? Besides… you should – _mhng_ – should… check on that spider kid about now.” The man’s words were strained, and eventually Tony dropped him to the ground, knowing that F.R.I.D.A.Y already had authorities on the way.

 

_What did he mean? Why would he need to check on Peter?_

 

Tony lifted off the ground and followed the small tracker dot on Peter’s suit, curving around an alley in time to collide with the one remaining man who was clearly trying to run away for the second time.

 

Tony blasted him into a pile of dumpster bags, wrinkling his nose as he imagined how much garbage juice the man was probably covered in now.

 

“Kid, how’re you holding up?” He asked, turning to where Peter was standing at the back of the alley, his mask gripped in one shaky hand.

 

“Dad?” Peter responded, his voice quiet and timid. _Frightened,_ Tony realised solemnly.

 

“Pete,” he stepped forward, his suit receding with the movement as he watched the boy he had taken in, become increasingly paler.

 

“I – Dad… I – I can’t,” Peter whispered.

 

_Stumble._

 

He stumbled. Why wasn’t he walking properly? Why was he looking down at himself like he spilt food on a favourite top?

 

“Peter?” He called warily, surging forward as worry churned his insides around like a food processor.

 

“Breathe… Dad, _Dad,_ I can’t – I can’t breathe!” Peter’s knees gave way, but Tony was there. He would always be there to catch him when he fell.

 

“No, hey stay with me buddy,” he pleaded, the severity of the situation at hand leaking through his bones like a toxin.

 

“ _Mmm_. It… hurts…” Why were his eyes so unfocused? Why did it look like Peter had no clue where he was?

 

“Hey. No, no, no, look up here, look at me Peter? Eyes here!” Tony wailed desperately, silently begging for Peter to look up and flick him those gorgeous hazel orbs he had realised looked just like his own.

 

“I don’t feel so good.” _No. Nope, they weren’t gonna do that._ A hysteric laugh bubbled up, but Tony swallowed it down. They were _not_ doing that… especially not after Titan.

 

“No, we aren’t doing this,” he pressed, “you can’t do this buddy!”

 

“Why… why’s it so warm Dad?” Tony looked down in horror, blood was covering Peter’s suit, it wasn’t the right shade of red anymore, _too crimson._ It was too dark and there was too much of it. Where did the blood even come from? Why was _his_ kid soaked in blood? Where were his eyes – what’s he looking at in the sky?

 

“No. Peter look here, look at me m’kay?” He watched as wide, starry eyes drifted back down from somewhere and stared up at him. Tony could feel the fluffy curls against his legs, Peter’s head cradled in his lap. “Yeah, yeah good boy, that’s it, show me those brown eyes, huh?”

 

“It doesn’t feel n… nice anymore,” Peter stuttered, his eyes rolling around unsteadily.

 

“What? N – no… What’s that mean Pete?” What didn’t feel nice? Had patrolling with Tony really felt that great? Why didn’t he feel nice anymore?

 

“I – I mean… I – I don’t know?” Peter mumbled, his eyes wandering off into the distance again.

 

“You gotta focus buddy, c’mon stay here, think about what you’re saying – don’t go off in your head,” he pleaded, desperately trying to catch Peter’s gaze.

 

“O – okay Dad.” There was silence for a second, and Tony could hear the soft noises of the wind, the shaky rise and fall of Peter’s chest, the almost non-existent sound of his blood spreading out over the ground, surrounding the two.

 

“H – hey Dad?” Peter asked softly, his voce almost too weak and silent to hear.

 

“Hey baby.” He was pressing his hands to Peter’s chest, torso, and stomach, but he couldn’t find any wound. Where the hell was the blood coming from? “F.R.I run diagnostic,” he said quickly.

 

“ _I am afraid Peter has sustained severe damage and is losing blood rapidly. He has less than four minutes. I have called, and medical attention is on its way._ ” No. Nononono. Peter. This couldn’t be happening to him, no.

 

“D – Dad?” Tony pressed his now shaking palm over the hole, which he had finally located. He brought his other hand up, two fingers outstretched, to lay over Peter’s pulse point.

 

“Y – yeah?” He croaked.

 

“It was almost m’ birthday, wasn’t it?” Oh God, oh no… _this isn’t real._

 

“Uh, yeah baby I think it was.” _His_ kid. _His_ child. His _baby_ was bleeding out, there was a bullet in him. He was going to _die_.

 

“I would’ve been able to – uhm? To drive a car, huh?” Peter let out a choked laugh, his eyes shutting, a single tear falling onto the bloodied mess of his torso.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re gonna be a great driver Pete, just stay with me okay? Help is on the way. You’re gonna be okay.” The kid hummed, blinking so slowly, eyes drifting. His pulse was weak, erratic at best. “Hey buddy, look over here now, c’mon.” Tony snapped his fingers above the boy’s eyes, they snapped back onto him and a tear fell from his own eye in short-lived relief. “Peter?”

 

“Dad, I – I love you” No, _hell no._ He wasn’t saying his goodbyes now, that was not allowed. He was not going to outlive his kid.

 

“No! Hey Petey, we aren’t gonna do that. You aren’t saying goodb –”

 

“M’, I love you Dad. You – you’re a good… good Dad and…” Tony cut him off, not able to bear the weight of what saying goodbye truly meant.

 

“What did I just say? Focus, no time to wander off now kiddo.”

 

“N… no Dad?” Peter seemed to come back to himself for a little, his glazed eyes were filled with fear again and he tried to shift, his hand gripping weakly at Tony’s wrist. “No Dad! Please…” Oh, this was worse, he couldn’t let Peter be afraid. “Dad… Dad I – no please.” _Shit._ Now Peter was crying, no that wasn’t okay. “I don’t – I don’t like this. I can’t go yet! I have to stay… with – with you and help and…”

 

“Hey, it’s okay. _Shh_ , Pete it’ll be okay. Medical is nearly here, and there isn’t gonna be any more pain and –”

 

“Dad… I can’t go. I don’t wanna leave you here. I wanna stay with you.” _Oh no_. How could someone so amazing and bright be so dim in this moment? Who hated Tony so much, that they granted him a perfect life with a perfect kid only to leave him crying, bleeding, _begging_ on the concrete, in his lap, pleading to stay.

 

“I won’t leave you. You’re not gonna be alone, I promise.”

 

“Da – ad?” Peter looked confused again, but there was no pain in his eyes any more – and maybe… maybe that was a good thing.

 

“Pete?”

 

“Hey Dad… I’ll miss you, kay?” He’ll miss the kid so damn much, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna say it and seal the fate. “I’ll miss you Dad. I love you…” _Not okay. Not alright._ Nononono. “Dad? I love you… please? Dad I love you…” Tony’s throat wasn’t working but he forced the words out, for Peter.

 

“I love you too baby, and I’ll miss you – but you aren’t going anywhere.”

 

“B – b – bye Dad… I – m’ sorry.” Peter’s eyes drifted, something new glazing over them, a sheen of cloudy acceptance as he stared up to where the stars once hung above him each night.

 

“No Pete! Hey! Look at me, please, please, no.” He dropped his head, pressing it against Peter’s forehead. “You can’t go, you gotta stay. I – I got you adoption papers… f – fo – for your birthday.” He dropped both of his hands against Peter’s cool cheeks, holding back a sob. “I got you adoption papers for your birthday.” His kid’s eyes were slowly fluttering, his blinks were getting longer and longer, glazed and hazy eyes staring into nowhere stopped moving. “Pete?” The movement under his two fingers was so, _so weak_. His pulse was going, Peter was going.

 

He heard the distant sound of a siren and he doubted anything could be done. His surprisingly unsteady fingers brushed over Peter’s eyelids, closing them gently. He shuffled the body closer, pressing the teen against his shoulder, craning the boy’s limp head so it rested against the junction where his shoulder and neck met. He leaned forward, so he could bury his lips and nose into Peter’s curls, press a final kiss against his scalp and run a trembling knuckle over his cheekbone.

 

“You would have suited the name, Peter Stark…” He whispered, hollow into the street that only just began to flash red and blue. “You were really gonna be my kid – you – you already were though… I just wanted to make it real, make it legal.” He pulled the limp form impossibly closer, lifting his shoulders, so the cold lips of his kid nuzzled into his pulse point, as if he were still there, just hugging him like normal after a long day. “I can’t picture life without you… you were supposed to be around for my retirement – to – to outlast me… because a father should never outlive his son.” 

 

There was a painful lump in his throat that felt like it was about to burst, he hoped he suffocated on the grief, he didn’t know how he was going to keep ploughing forward without his kid by his side. “Oh god, Peter… I’m so, _so_ sorry.” He couldn’t, he couldn’t do this… he couldn’t be here and face a world where this kid didn’t live. “Please, please Peter, please god… I can’t, I – I – I can’t do this without you.” 

 

He felt the lump rising, pressing outward as his mind processed more and more of the situation. “You can’t leave because I don’t have anything now, you were the last thing in my life kiddo, you – you were the only thing that was – that made things better… I haven’t had a panic attack since you started living with me… I – I… Please, please, _please_ …”

 

Tony could hear footsteps, they pounded towards him and Bruce’s voice rose above the rest, calling for equipment and a stretcher. Vaguely, as if he weren’t feeling anything, he knew Bruce had reached him, had placed a hand on his shoulder which squeezed comfortingly. Tony wasn’t feeling it so much as he was seeing it. He heard someone screaming for CPR, asking how long they had until they surpassed the six-minute mark when the brain began to die.

 

Even floating above, the sensation of Peter in his arms still lingered. He could clearly see the teen being lifted out of his arms, laid down flat on the pavement, someone’s hands pressing over his chest and beginning to push down, beginning rescue breaths and salvaging what Tony didn’t think could be saved.

 

“ _I’m sorry,_ " he whispered as he sank back to himself, the feeling of Peter cradled against his chest fading.

 

“You didn’t do anything wrong Tony, we’re going to do our best to bring him back, there could still be hope.” Bruce followed as Peter and the stretcher he was resting on was lifted into the back of the ambulance, Tony beginning to trail after. “Can you meet us at the tower? If you get there before us, try to update Cho on the wound and she can prep for his arrival.” Tony looked up as the ambulance doors began to shut. He nodded, tears still glistening on his cheeks as the suit covered him.

 

Tony didn’t know what Bruce or Cho could do, not when he had already felt Peter’s pulse stopping underneath his own fingertips.

 

He closed his eyes as he landed, walking down to the Med Bay and giving Helen Cho the rundown, sitting stiffly in a chair outside the operating theatre as she gathered equipment and disinfected the surface. When Peter was wheeled in, Tony decided he didn’t want to watch, he couldn’t sit and stare while doctors tried to save someone who might not be salvageable anymore.

 

\----

 

“…ny? Tony? Tony, you need to listen to me.”

 

“Just tell me if you saved him or not, that’s all I care about. I don’t want to know how difficult it was, or how he’s a fighter. I just want it straight.” Bruce looked across at Tony, eyeing him worriedly.

 

“He’s alive, we got his heart pumping again after a few minutes, but it –”

 

“No,” Tony interrupted. “No… I don’t want to know, I just want to hold him now.” Bruce set his clipboard aside and removed his glasses, looking sternly at the mechanic.

 

“I’ll give it to you straight but there’s some information that you need to understand.” Tony slumped back in his chair, resigning to listen half-heartedly. “He lost some memories, he doesn’t remember much.” Tony stiffened, looking up at Bruce before leaning to stare at the door which he knew contained the room his apparently amnesiac son.

 

“Does he know who I am?”

 

“I’m not sure, I didn’t want to overwhelm him. You can go in now and see whether he recognises you.” Tony bit the inside of the cheek and stood stiffly, the inside of his mouth drying out as nerves dehydrated his body.

 

“I’ll go… do that now, I guess.” Bruce nodded sympathetically, giving him a look of luck, silently supporting him. “Thanks,” he said quietly over his shoulder, twisting the door handle and walking inside the recovery room which smelled of antiseptic and soap.

 

Peter was sat up in a hospital bed, shaky fingers clutching a cup of water, his lips wrapped around a paper straw. He looked up when Tony opened the door, stared blankly for a few short seconds before blinking and then smiling weakly.

 

“Hey Mr. Stark, wh – what are you doing here?” His voice was slightly rough, his eyes wide and face slightly pale.

 

“I came to make sure you were okay,” he said quietly, trying to judge how strong the recognition in Peter’s eyes was.

 

“Oh, thank you. That means a lot,” Peter murmured, putting his cup down on a plastic tray. “How’s everything going, I should heal up fast. Any more… y’know, ‘retreats?’” Tony frowned in thought, May knew about Spider-Man, she had found out during the homecoming fiasco – meaning Peter didn’t have to sneak around during the three month period that May was still his legal guardian.

 

His _living_ guardian.

 

“No… no retreats. What’s the last thing you remember, Pete?” The teen squirmed slightly, looking up at the ceiling in thought.

 

“Um, I got back home from Germany… and then, yeah… not much happened after that. I had dinner with May, talked to Ned, the usual.”

 

Peter had lost everything starting from a few days after Germany, all the way through, past homecoming, past May’s death, past the legality of his guardianship, and far past the point in which he began calling Tony ‘Dad.’

 

“Okay…” Tony said softly, twisting his hands together. “You’ve missed a lot,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

 

“How much?” Peter asked, quirking one of his brows.

 

_So much._ Tony thought. So much time has passed, that all he was to Peter, is the man who made him a suit and invited him to Germany – nothing else. Not a mentor, not an equal, not a _father_.

 

“A bit,” he managed to force out. “But it’s okay,” he carefully rounded the edge of the bed, pulling a chair closer and lowering his body into it before leaning forward. “It’s okay because we’ll figure it out. We will, I promise.”

 

_I won’t stop until you know that you’re my child._


	12. Amputated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an alternate reality in which the accords went _very_ differently, heroes fight the war against members of what used to be the government, the remaining members of HYDRA, and any other group or organisation that believed mutants or 'heroes' should be locked up or ruled by restricting guidelines.
> 
> Peter was only fifteen, and yet the war had already taken his last living relative, and now he was a soldier like the rest of what used to be the Avengers.
> 
> Tony was an adult with no superhuman abilities, and yet the child fighting alongside him with the stone heart somehow squirmed his way into the small circle of people he called family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

“You’re okay. You’re going to be _okay_.” Tony gripped Peter’s hand and stared ahead of the stretcher, his face white from the shock and his teeth grit in determination to not look down at the charred, bloody mess which made his stomach lurch.

 

Choked gasps and strained wheezes raised from the teen beneath him, sprawled out on an emergency stretcher, the scent of burnt flesh swirling around them as soot and ash floated in the air, hanging heavy like a deathly cloud. Tony could hear other bombs going off, more men screaming in Russian, German, some even poorly strung together English threats.

 

His eyes flickered down when he felt Peter’s fist clenching around his own. “I’m sorry, I’m _sorry._ I swear we’re getting you back to the compound, everything will be okay.” There was another deathly rattle as Peter inhaled sharply, the stretcher jolting as it was lifted over the lip of the Quinjet’s ramp. The boy let out a strangled shout of pain, his eyes scrunching and hand tightening so much that Tony winced, his own bones hissing under the pressure.

 

“We’ve got sedative – _shit_ , get him under or he’ll go into shock!” Someone measured an appropriate amount of morphine and sedative before feeding it into Peter’s arm, his eyes blowing wide before they wilted and closed gently against his cheeks. Tony could see a medical team member slipping a scissor blade underneath the hem of Peter’s pant leg, slowly cutting upward and gingerly peeling the melted fabric up from his skin.

 

Tony turned away and held back a violent gag when he saw the white of the poor kid’s kneecap. He faced the back wall as the medical workers did their jobs and the pilot flew them back to the largest, most proficient and best equipped to handle battle wounds. Despite the fact that he head a perfect view of the back wall, he still gripped Peter’s loose hand in his own, a burning lump in his throat and hot tears welling behind his eyelids.

 

“ETA?” One of the doctors yelled, turning towards the cockpit.

 

“Four minutes, plus landing time.” The doctor turned away after the response, grunting and continuing to wipe away sticky, congealed slabs of blood.

 

Tony didn’t turn to see his protégé become another victim.

 

\----

 

“You need to be back here now, soldier.”

 

“I preferred the time when we weren’t referred to as those, it’s a bitter portrayal of what we were trying… are trying to _stop_.” Tony scrunched his eyes shut, the plastic arm of the waiting room chair groaning dangerously as he clenched it under the fist which held Peter’s hand only four hours ago.

 

“You’re needed out here. You aren’t special, waiting for your family isn’t an excuse to stop fighting. Get back here, or your squadron will be sent to the frontlines.” The gruff voice followed by the click of the secure line cutting off.

 

“Yeah well… screw you too general.” Tony muttered angrily, snapping the phone shut and shoving it into his back pocket, the guilt tearing away. He left Steve and the rest of his team to be here, but he couldn’t leave one of the youngest fighters alone, injured, in the Med centre.

 

His wristband blinked, his tracker activating as the general no doubt began to track his location, so he had no excuse for standing around. Tony huffed, stealing glances through the operation theatre glass as much as he could on his way out to the continual stream of aerial transports.

 

He filled out an update form at the front desk, scribbling out Peter’s full name, registration number, squadron number, and the same details for himself. He took a breath, slipped the page in, watched the on-duty receptionist confirming it, and then ran out the front doors, dodging a stretcher carrying another wounded fighter as he made his way to the departing jets.

 

\----

 

He had been out on the third line for almost two and a half hours before his band began to buzz, a red light illuminating inside his suit.

 

“Rogers! I have to –”

 

“I know. Go help the kid – be there for him.” Steve ducked a blow and slammed someone’s skull with his shield, a gruesome last sight for Tony’s ninth day straight on the battlefield.

 

He only waited two minutes for an arrival and departure, and then he was only seven minutes away from Peter, who was awake now, judging by the update he had received.

 

“Band,” the security guard said evenly, nodding Tony as he threw his wrist up and showed him the glowing flashes of red.

 

Tony’s band said room 6B, and he stormed to the second floor and let the scanner take note of his wrist band’s red light before the door buzzed and he pushed in to find Peter on the bed. The sheets reached his hip height, his hair less sweaty and matted by blood, his eyes watery as opposed to dark with strategy.

 

“Hey, how’s your leg?” Peter smiled weakly up at Tony, his eyes crinkling in a tired grin when he was fussed over. He didn’t answer verbally, choosing instead to lift his blankets and push them back.

 

His right leg was fine, aside from some bandaging around the areas where he had taken shrapnel to the thigh and calf. His left however… his left leg was half it’s normal size, cut away at the knee and swaddled in heavily applied, thick bandaging.

 

“Didn’t make it, they said it was unsalvageable… it’s not a big deal I guess, heaps of the fighters deal with things like this.” Tony winced at the way a child had just shrugged away a missing leg, not seeming to care about how much readjusting his life on the battlefield would need as an amputee.

 

“Oh, buddy,” Tony whispered softly. He sat softly on the edge of the bed, beside Peter’s good leg, _his only leg_. “We’ll apply for leave, medical and recovery leave.” Peter looked up, Tony was scared to see the tiny flicker of hope in his eyes.

 

“We… we can do that?” He asked softly, still holding the anticipation back in his throat.

 

“We can apply to, and the general’s have to sign off on it…” Tony could see the optimism in Peter fizzling away. “But they should be lenient about it, I mean…” He trailed off, unsure how sensitive the matter was for the kid.

 

“I mean, I did just get my leg blown off,” Peter finished with a sad smile. Tony shifted on the side of the bed, leaning in to rest a hand atop Peter’s head, dropping his chin lightly against it with a sigh.

 

“I’ll build you a prosthetic,” Tony promised. He let Peter lean his weight against his side and closed his eyes, rubbing the boy’s scalp soothingly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, and I’m sorry you were… I’m sorry that you got hurt like this,” Tony murmured. He could feel Peter shaking his head from underneath him.

 

“Don’t apologise, it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have done anything. I should have just said _no_ to the mission.” Tony lifted his head from Peter’s, looking down at the teen.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Uh… I – I just meant that it wasn’t your fault, like at all.” Tony shook his head, waving his hand as if to say, ‘not that, the other thing.’ Peter quirked his eyebrow, wincing as the butterfly bandage pulled the hairs. “I was asked to get across the fields… and I said I would.” Tony opened his mouth, widening his eyes.

 

“Tell me you didn’t, _please_ kid… tell me you didn’t try to cross a minefield.” Peter winced.

 

“It was a civilian rescue mission… and nobody else volunteered, it was an old apartment building, Mr. Stark… there were families in there.” Tony hung his head, resting it against Peter’s shoulder with a heavy sigh.

 

“Oh Pete…” _This damn self-sacrificial kid, risking his life to save a building of civilians and losing a limb in the process._ He tilted his head, partiality in his eyes as he reached up and brushed a small smudge of soot off the side of the boy’s cheek. “You’re a good kid, Underoos… an amazing kid.” He stayed still for a moment, then leaned inward and let Peter’s chin hook over his shoulder, one of his own arms coming up to rub his back reassuringly. “We’ll get you sorted buddy, nothing a good peg leg can’t solve.” Peter laughed aloud, curling even closer into Tony’s affection.

 

The comfort reminded him of days where their hours on the battlefield were extended past regulation and well into the early hours of the next morning. Tony and Peter were almost always paired for the job dubbed ‘mountain sky watch.’ Those nights were the best, they huddled in a tent and the only thing required was to watch the sky for any air attacks. Peter was sent up because of his enhanced hearing and ‘spidey senses,’ while Tony was up there because he was the best person to defend against fully loaded planes, especially in a suit of armour.

 

He loved those nights, the time he got to spend with the closest thing he had to family, staring up at the stars in a tent up on the mountains, curled up further away from the minefields and battle grounds than he had ever stepped foot.

 

\----

 

“We’ve been assigned another mountain sky watch,” Tony said. Peter didn’t understand the excitement in his voice, or why he had an extra duffel bag that night when they trekked up. Both bags were criss-crossed over his shoulders, he stayed behind Peter when the walkways grew too narrow, steadying him often as he stumbled and limped over loose, uneven rock.

 

He had been given a low-grade prosthetic, the kind that was pumped out of factories every other day, a mix of cheap plastic and wood which was mediocre at best. 

 

“Why… are you… c – carrying… two bags?” Peter panted, gasping and sucking in air as he climbed the slopes.

 

“Because… we aren’t staying the night like normal… we’re going to… to run.” Tony answered, puffing almost as much as Peter was.

 

“Run from the war?” Peter asked, slowly slightly as he turned to face Tony.

 

“Yes. They… denied our leave, said you had rehabilitated quickly because… of the accelerated healing… so they said no to recovery time.” Peter pressed his lips together, the final sliver of hope that Tony had given him on the hospital bed over a month ago died away. “But… I think… I think that’s absolute crap, and I promised you… so I’m flying us to a lab I own out in Malibu… and we’re going to build the best prosthetic, and then manufacture… a gas… or poison, to wipe out as much of the enemy as possible, and then end this stupid war, so that I can… can finally try and give you a real home.”

 

Peter’s shoe scuffed against the gravel, he froze up, turning to face Tony again. His eyes were wide, and his eyebrows were furrowed in thought.

 

“A… a home?” he asked unbelievingly.

 

“Where else would you go if the war ended? You sure as hell don’t deserve to live on the streets.” He stepped forward, resting a steadying hand on Peter’s shoulder and squeezing gently. “People like us, heroes, we deserve a normal life too.”

 

Peter looked down to the ground, his prosthetic jutting out into his field of vision. The teen nodded slowly and it worried Tony that Peter still didn’t seem to believe him.

 

“So, you’re flying us back to a lab in Malibu, we’re going to live like normal people, build a new prosthetic for me and then create a poison or gas that can help our side win the war for good?” Tony smiled, readjusting the duffel bags. Peter rolled his eyes as he spoke, “that plan sounds like a young adult’s dystopian future novel.”

 

“Probably, but it’s better than the life we’re living now.” Tony watched Peter shrug in agreeance before continuing up the mountain.

 

They trekked for another quarter of an hour before Tony was finally able to drop both duffel bags into the dirt where their tent was normally set up. “Gimme your hand,” Tony said suddenly, looking across to where Peter was staring in wonder at the stars.

 

“Uh… why?” He asked, holding out his arm regardless, the trust obvious. Peter was still gazing up at the sky, not caring as Tony began to tinker with something until there was a sharp clang and then the sound of metal hitting dry dirt. He jumped back in surprise, “what was that?”

 

“Your wrist band. Now they can’t track us,” Tony mumbled through a mouthful of screwdriver. He popped his own one off, leaving them in the dust as his suit crawled over his skin. He picked up the duffel bags and threw them over his shoulder, adjusting the straps so they slung across his back. “Up,” he warned before scooping Peter into his arms, ignoring the wide-eyed look on the boy’s face, similar to a deer in headlights.

 

Peter smiled, dropping his head against the chest plate and resigning to throw his neck back and watch the stars as Tony flew them to the lab which sounded like his new future.

 

When Tony lifted off the ground, the dust flew back away from the suit’s feet, covering their already dusty trackers in a layer of dirt. “We’re going home kiddo,” Tony called over the whine of the suit’s thrusters powering up.

 

“I know, I trust you.” Peter yelled back, squeezing even closer in the bridal carry as the suit fell from the edge of the cliff, and excited whoop escaping his lips before they were soaring upwards, so close to the clouds that he could almost imagine the sea of stars that might lay behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	13. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When somebody kidnaps nine-year-old Peter, you can't expect Tony to _not_ be consumed by rage, especially not when he sees his son tied from the ceiling like nothing more than a status symbol for how his kidnappers managed to best _the_ Tony Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

He was bitter and filled with the undeniable urge to rip someone’s head from their neck. Tony wanted everyone who had been involved in any way to die the most horrible of deaths. He didn’t normally go for the kill unless his mission was to specifically _eradicate_ a target.

 

But this wasn’t a routine Avengers mission, it was the literal life or death of his nine-year-old son.

 

He stared down at the pages beneath his desk, the crumpled photographs showcasing bruised skin and cuts welling with blood. Tony could see the tiny, crimson fingerprints and the shaky signature. ‘ _Peter Stark._ ’ The dark part of his brain wondered how hard it was for his child to write with a very obviously broken wrist, which the photographs had displayed.

 

He hated the exhibition-like feeling of it all. The mockingly succinct and professional way in which the ransom letter had been written. The signature… Peter’s signature as if he hadn’t been forced to sign with a gun pressing against the back of his skull.

 

Tony wanted to break somebody’s finger for every messy teardrop across the letter, for every smear of ink. Even the idea that Peter had been sat down at a chair, made to write out his own ransom note under the kidnappers’ demands, and then sat at the back of a dim room for a few blurry and poorly taken photographs, made Tony want to blow the kidnappers’ brains across the road like pureed cauliflower.

 

He looked across the lab to where his desktop was mostly shattered across the floor. He didn’t regret it, he could replace everything easily. Objects were replaceable, lives weren’t.

 

_Peter couldn’t be replaced._

 

Tony worried at the inside of his lip and crumpled the edge of his nails angrily. The thought of a group of men ripping a child off the streets for some hard cash made hid blood boil hotly. He wanted them all to simultaneously rot in a jailcell for eternity and yet die a million deaths.

 

“Tony?” He heard a sharp voice, four sets of fists pounding on the door to the lab. F.R.I.D.A.Y buzzed them in. “We’re suited up, how long until I can bury a knife in somebody’s skull?” Natasha’s boots clicked against the linoleum, she was followed by a positively murderous looking Steve, Rhodey and Clint.

 

They looked like they were ready to end an entire race for their nephew.

 

“As soon as we land, you can spread out and take a sector of the building yourselves. I need to make the ‘deal’ and hand over the money. First priority is Peter, only attack once I’ve got him.” The four nodded, Steve’s shield catching the light and Clint’s quiver of arrows doing the same. Natasha’s never-ending stash of blades would be parroting the action, but they were so hidden away on her person that it was impossible for the light to hit them.

 

“Killing is on the table, right?”

 

“Rhodes, this is Peter we’re talking about. Killing _is_ the main goal here.” Clint rolled his eyes but fiddled with the tip of one of his arrows menacingly, Steve shouldered his shield and boarded the jet quickly, Tony could hear him flicking switches and starting it up.

 

“I don’t care what you do, as long as the men who hurt my kid get to experience the worst pain of their lives.” Tony said firmly, climbing the ramp of the Quinjet and continuing to glance down at the photograph. Every time he did, he saw the same tear-stained face, the same wide, brown eyes that he had stared into for nine years.

 

Soft, hazel eyes which Tony had never seen looking that _terrified_ in all of Peter’s life.

 

“Crap, wait – wait! I need the duffel,” Tony called, leaping back down the ramp and scooping up the bag loaded with money which had been requested and sent to him, along with the picture of his child, haunted and traumatised, bound to a chair. “Okay, we’re good,” he yelled as he slid back into his seat, dumping the bag of money, which meant nothing in comparison to his son, at his feet.

 

When the jet lifted, Tony couldn’t help but spend the flight staring out the window and contemplating how many different ways he could kill somebody, taking into account how little remorse he would have, considering his son had been injured.

 

“Tony, fists.” He looked up as Rhodey spoke, then glanced back down to see one of his hands gripping the arm rest so tightly that his knuckles were white, and his second hand was digging nails into his palm so tightly it left indents.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered, squeezing the letter through his pocket.

 

“I know you’re angry, but you need to just focus on th –”

 

“Hell yeah am I angry, I’m going to rip somebody’s throat out.” Tony snapped suddenly, angrily squeezing away the worried lump in his throat, in exchange for fury. “A group of criminals literally took Peter while he was walking to school! Why the hell would anyone hurt a child? A _child!_ ” He stood, beginning to pace up and down the cargo hold of the jet, worriedly looking from the window to the pictures in his hands.

 

_God… Peter looked so damn young._

 

His wrists and ankles were strapped to a chair, his cheek and temple badly bruised, a smear of blood under his nose and scratch marks running up and down his arms. One of his wrists jutted out at the wrong angle, his collarbone had a deep, red cut and his eyes were blown wide in terror.

 

Tony had never known he would thirst to hurt another human being so badly… but in that moment, pacing up and down the jet and staring at his kid – all he wanted was for someone to pay for what they had done to his son.

 

_And they would._

 

When the jet landed, he let everybody else stay on board while he shouldered the duffel and walked out to face the same people who had made Peter write and sign a letter demanding money in exchange for his life. It was sick, and Tony hated having to play into their games, although he swallowed his fury in favour of seeing Peter again.

 

“Where is he?” He spat bitterly at the two men sent to escort him into the building.

 

“Inside,” one of them replied evenly. For some reason, the calm in both of their faces and statures made Tony want to kill them even more, it was as if they didn’t even care that their last day had been spent brutalising an innocent child. He wanted to rip their limbs apart and leave them defenceless for Nat to destroy.

 

“Money,” he growled, dropping the duffel so it hit the ground loudly. “Now, give me my son.” The two men dropped to the floor to pick up the bag and separated out the money in their fists, leading Tony inside the building and spilling out the stacks of cash onto a large table. He took the moment to subtly press the small alert button hidden on the inside of his sleeve, letting the others know that they could move into position to wait for the signal. 

 

He stared impassively as the men counted the money and pawed through it like dirty thieves. “It’s all there, now show me where Peter is,” Tony warned heatedly.

 

“He’s hanging around somewhere.” The man who hadn’t spoken paused from his money counting to snort amusedly, looking genuinely pleased for some reason. Tony watched both the men’s eyes darting to something behind him, his anger flickered when he noted the way their smiles still hung across their faces.

 

_Like hyenas._

 

Before he could turn, there was a small noise from behind him, like the squeak of a wooden support beam settling in the ceiling. When he shifted to look up, curious as to what was amusing the two men so much, he almost gagged on the practically physical wave of fury that rose from his throat.

 

Peter, his nine-year-old son, was hung from the ceiling. A length of thick, brown rope coiled around him. It looped from his ankles, around his legs, binding his knees together, crawling up his waist, stomach, torso and neck. The way the knots were tied, assured that the part of the rope keeping him in the air was the parts wrapped around his wrists and torso, rather than his neck.

 

_The rope around his neck was just for show, to imitate what basically resembled a cruel game of hangman._

 

Peter’s head was hung, his chin resting against his chest and eyes slid shut.

 

Tony felt a heatwave rolling across his body, blood was rushing so loudly inside his ears that he could barely even hear his own voice yelling into the comm line.

 

“Bets are off! _End them all._ ” He screamed, throwing himself across the table, not caring about the stacks of cash that spilled over the floor as he slammed his boot into one of the men’s throats while his arm flew up to grip the others collar. “You’re going to pay!” He hollered furiously, careening the second man back into the table top painfully as absolute hell broke loose.

 

He was so unaware that he barely comprehended the noises of Steve, Rhodey, Clint and Natasha beginning to plough their way through the rest of the men who must have been milling around outside.

 

Tony sent his elbow back into the first man, leaving him gasping for air as he resumed his attention to the second, slamming him back against the table for a second time. “You hurt my son! I’m going to kill you!” He screamed, punching him across the jaw ferociously and feeling the sick grin of satisfaction peeling across his face when the man spat blood and a single tooth. He felt arms on his shoulders and instinctively threw his head back, connecting with somebody’s nose with a violent crunch.

 

“ _Agghhh_!”

 

Tony grimaced as the first man slumped in his grip, unconscious. He swung around, needing an outlet for the all-consuming rage. He swept his foot and knocked the second man, who was clutching his bloodied and crooked nose, onto the floor. Tony clambered on top of him, pinning him down and raining blows with screams of absolute animalistic proportions of fiery violence. “You,” a fist in the man’s cheekbone, “hurt,” a knee to his groin, “him!” Tony finished the final man off by slamming his head back into the ground.

 

He rolled off him, panting heavily, his rage slowly dying away as he heard quiet whimpers from above.

 

_Peter…_

 

Rhodey flew in the same time that Tony stumbled to his feet, clumsily sprinting to where his kid was still strung up like a sick display of power that had been held above the billionaire.

 

“Catch him, I’ll bring the ropes down!” Rhodey cried, flying over to a system on the wall which must have been connected.

 

“Peter!” Tony wailed, diving forward to gently place his hands around the small boy’s waist, lowering him to the ground as carefully as possible.

 

He always surprised himself when he managed to become so violent and aggressive, and yet immediately soften into a mindful and worried parent whenever Peter was concerned.

 

“I got you, bud.” Tony murmured as Peter’s feet finally touched the ground in who knows how long. “We’re all good, nothing else is going to happen to you, just us now kiddo, _just us._

 

Peter whimpered silently, dropping his body weight against his father’s, tucking his head away into the crook of his neck and squirming against the ropes. “Hey, _hey_ , it’s okay.” Tony cooed, unwinding the rope lightly and softly blowing on the areas which were rubbed raw from rope burn. He pulled Peter into his chest and curled into the embrace protectively, kissing the boy’s temple caringly and listening as Natasha, Clint and Steve ran in, pausing and huffing out of exhaustion beside Rhodey as the four Avengers, plus Tony, circled Peter and dropped to one knee, cupping his chin, ruffling his hair, patting his back affectionately.

 

All the while, Tony was huddling his child against his torso, humming softly and murmuring how brave Peter had been, how proud he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	14. Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony, Rhodey and Natasha were on a routine mission, looking for a 'weapon' which Fury had asked them to find.
> 
> Tony didn't expect to find _this._
> 
> (But then again, he also didn't expect to become a parent).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

Tony, Rhodey and Natasha were stood in a high-ceiling warehouse, waiting patiently for the speaker to stop crackling with static. When it finally did, they listened to the typical bad guy monologue, explaining the science behind his company’s genetic mutating, as if Tony wasn’t smart enough to understand it himself.

 

The only debriefing Fury had given them was that they needed firepower, hence Tony and Rhodey both in their suits, and someone who was able to stealthily get into the main filing rooms and upload as much information onto a stick. That job had already been done, there was only one man on guard in the filing room, and it only took a single injector of sedative to deal with him. The rest of the information was incredibly vague, something about ‘a new weapon’ and ‘something which could be a threat if it fell into the wrong hands.’ 

 

But none of that particularly mattered now that they were standing in the middle of the main warehouse, the ceiling must have been thirty to forty feet above them. Tony couldn’t care less about how menacing the man over the speaker was trying to be, he sounded like a dying cat and it irked Tony to no end.

 

“Okay, _okay_. Jeez, we get it, you kidnap people and experiment with their DNA until you get a result you want, or they die.” Tony yelled, clenching his fist when F.R.I.D.A.Y alerted him of a heat signature moving their way.

 

“You’re an impatient man, Mr. Stark.” A tall scientist with a receding hair line and dark eyes stepped into the warehouse. Rhodey turned towards him, raising a gauntlet in warning and watching as the man raised his hands in surrender, slowing to a halt only a few steps into the room. “Patience is a funny thing, you really learn to appreciate the importance of it when you’re having to wait around so long for a success.”

 

“A success?” Rhodey parroted in question, mimicking Natasha’s raised eyebrows. Tony felt a tiny surge of anxiety curling in his chest, he didn’t like how pleased the scientist sounded.

 

“Exactly, our first subject who made it past the six-month marker since displaying the desired mutation.” The scientists face fell mockingly, as if he weren’t really upset about whatever he was going to say next. “Unfortunately though, because this is our only cooperative subject at the moment – and by cooperative, I mean _living_ – I’m going to have to use a bit more security than usual.” Tony rolled his eyes as a swarm of heat signatures began heading through all the halls and creeping their way around each entrance to the warehouse. Rhodey could no doubt see them too, and Natasha was observant.

 

“Get it over with,” Tony said impassively. “We all know you’ve got eighty men standing around waiting for the signal. You aren’t subtle, and your security system sucks.” The scientist wrinkled his nose before smiling again.

 

“I think you’ll find that when there’s something important to me which I’d prefer to keep as my own, I’m perfectly capable of getting high-tech security.” Tony frowned at that, the scientist was obviously referring to something specific. “But I mean… if you would rather start now, I’m quite happy to oblige.”

 

“Go for it,” Natasha said darkly, a gun drawn in one hand and a short, sharp knife in the other.

 

And with that, the warehouse echoed with four separate bangs as the multiple entrances were stormed. Men in dark uniforms bared into the large space, Tony immediately flew into the air, beginning to fire at the bottleneck of men as Rhodey and Natasha dealt with the few faster ones that began to swing batons and tasers in their direction.

 

Tony heard the sound of Rhodey’s suit blocking out hits from the batons, and he saw a quickly growing amount of men on the floor, out cold, lying by Natasha’s feet as she swung around and expertly tore weapons from each of the men’s hands.

 

“I just wanted…” he slammed a small projectile into a cluster of three men, “a chill…” it sent them to the floor with a cloud of smoke, “Tuesday afternoon!”

 

“Good thing it’s a Wednesday then, Tones.” Rhodey yelled back, connecting a gauntlet covered fist with one of the men’s fists as they both tried to punch at the same time. Natasha laughed as she heard the man yelp and fall to his knees, clutching broken fingers while Tony busied himself with the edges of the fight, the trickle of men bursting through the doors finally beginning to slow.

 

“You’re ruining everything!” The scientist screamed, throwing himself to the side when Tony kicked a guard into the wall where he stood before in retaliation.

 

“Well _sorry_.” Tony mocked, cutting down at least seven men with one well-aimed repulsor blast. “Next time we’re told to shut down an ethically questionable operation, I’ll try to be more civil!” Tony yelled, throwing his arm back and catching an unlucky guard in the jaw.

 

“You don’t deserve to be around people anymore! You experimented on the weak and defenceless, you won’t be hurting anyone every again!” Rhodey snapped, sending a blast in the head scientists direction in warning.

 

“Stay away from my experiments! It’s mine, you don’t know _anything_ about how to keep it happy – it needs _me_.” Tony landed a few feet away, pointing a gauntlet covered finger in the scientist’s direction as he stalked forwards, his suit clanking against the concrete floors.

 

“Whatever the hell you’re referring to, you better hope to god that isn’t a person you just called an experiment, because you’ll regret it.” He hissed, finally getting close enough to prod the finger into the scientist’s chest, hearing him swallow nervously.

 

From behind him, Tony could hear the fights dying down, Natasha was taking on two men at once before moving to the next pair, leaving Rhodey to shoot down the rest of the guards still anxiously milling around on the outskirts. “Aside from that,” Tony continued, keeping his faceplate up to prove his sneer was hanging strongly across his face. “Tell me, where is the weapon you’ve been making? If you hand it over, there could be lenience on how many life sentences you get in court.” 

 

The scientist narrowed his eyes before Tony shook him roughly. “The weapon! Tell me where it is!” The man only stared blankly for a few seconds before he seemed to realise what Tony meant. Then, his lips peeled back into a wide grin and he threw his head back in laughter, chuckling like a madman.

 

“You think I’ve been making a weapon, like the ones you used to? That’s precious,” the scientist choked out between laughter. “No, no,” he sobered up, straightening up slightly against Tony’s hold. “You see, what you call a weapon, I call a success. What you’re looking for is Project Angel.”

 

The remaining men look up, they all look slightly interested in what the scientist just said, and Natasha straightened her back from where she had been crouched, taking the opportunity of a distracted opponent to use him as a means of throwing herself into the next. The two men went down, leaving barely any. Rhodey wiped out the few left, and then it was the three of them and the lone scientist.

 

“Project Angel,” Tony repeated stiffly, glaring the scientist down with little patience.

 

“Exactly. It’s mine as well, nobody else has the capabilities to keep it in check. You can destroy my business and take down my men, Stark. But Angel is _mine_ , and you need to understand that.” It was Tony’s turn to laugh.

 

“You realise that this entire mission was focused on dismantling your weapon, it was top priority. Nothing else mattered, we just took down your men because you didn’t leave much of a choice.” The scientist was nervously shuffling now, pinning himself back against the wall in worry.

 

“It’s not yours. You can’t take it away from me – I put years of work into that!” His dark eyes were flickering around the room now, his arms twitching at his sides.

 

“It’s a weapon! You could use it to blow up half of New York. For all we know, it could be a nuke that starts the next world war!” The scientist’s eyes went wide, his hand fumbled in his lab coat’s pocket for something.

 

“You’re going to kill my weapon!” He screamed, yanking a small remote out. “Don’t touch it! You can’t – you’ll ruin everything I’ve worked for!” He jabbed something on his remote, darting forward as Tony, Rhodey and Natasha watched the man lazily, noting how he seemed to be growing more and more insane as the prospect of having his project destroyed became clearer.

 

“You don’t have much in the way of defence right now,” Rhodey said evenly, opening his arms to gesture at the warehouse ground which was littered with groups of the unconscious guards. “Why don’t you just calm down, and come quietly, then we can –”

 

He was cut off as an ear-piercing grinding sound echoed throughout the space. The scientist was staring up at the ceiling, and Tony followed his gaze to see the metal sliding backwards, revealing the real ceiling, which contained a network of support beams as it normally would have.

 

“It’s _mine_!” The scientist screamed again over the loud grinding of the metal sliding back. He was still furiously slamming buttons, and even more groans joined the screeching of the metal. Tony had no idea what else could have been opening up.

 

The metal was over halfway opened by that point, and he craned his neck back to stare amongst the support beams, keeping a keen eye out for anything that looked like a potential weapon. He was expecting a nuke, missile, bomb, even a machine of some sort, but all he saw were metal beams.

 

There was nothing that stood out, and only when the scientist made a noise of success did Tony realise what he was seeing.

 

Although most of the support beams were real, a small section in the middle of the ceiling had been angled in such a way that it created a cage-like structure. The beams were thinner, they curved downward and ran across at the bottom, creating something which resembled a grill or bird-cage. He opened his lips to say something, what, he didn’t know, but then the scientist was running into the middle of the warehouse, under the cage and slamming another button on the remote, stepping back as the bottom of the cage began to open with groans of protest.

 

Something that Tony couldn’t see was slipping from where it was laying in the corner of the cage. He caught a small blur of movement and then heard a soft, frightened whine and yelp of terror as the object finally fell from where the cage’s bottom had given way, leaving whatever it had held to fall from the ceiling.

 

Tony watched the figure falling as his mind slowly processed what he was seeing. It only clicked when there was a loud bang as the thing hit the ground heavily, immediately crumpling as a broken cry filled the warehouse.

 

“Oh god…” Tony heard Rhodey whisper in disbelief.

 

They were staring at the bruised and pale body of a young boy.

 

The teen was small and scrawny, wild brunette curls fell around his face, scratched up arms were splayed across the concrete floor, and speckles of dried blood stained his plain, grey uniform. But those weren’t the things that made Tony’s heart leap into his throat as he stared unbelievingly at the kid.

 

It was the sight of fluffed, pastel wings extending from the child’s back and shoulders which made him faulter.

 

The wings were large, larger than the teen himself. The feathers were ruffled but thick, broad splashes of deep blue ran into lighter streaks, almost matching Tony’s reactor glow. At the tips, the feathers were coloured a deep red, a fiery contrast to the cool tones of the blues.

 

The shock of what he was seeing is what gave the scientist enough time to burst into action.

 

There was a loop of rope fastened around the boy’s wrists, the skin underneath rubbed raw and almost as read as his wings.

 

The scientists hissed something that Tony didn’t register, before yanking the length of rope which he held in both of his fists. The poor kid was whimpering, breathing out tiny gasps of ‘ _ah… ow, ow… s – sto – ah!'_

 

“Get on your feet, we’re going, now!” The scientist yelled angrily, giving the rope a tug, which hauled the small teen up onto his knees. “Faster!” The man snapped, jerking the rope so hard that the boy was towed upwards onto his shaky legs, his bare feet stumbled across the concrete.

 

“ _He’s_ the weapon,” Natasha murmured quietly, the three Avengers stiff in the midst of a complete shock.

 

“B – but… he called it… he called him an ‘it.’” Rhodey said.

 

“Oh god, the kid’s an experiment – he is the weapon Fury warned us about!” Tony snapped into reality, finally catching up to the game.

 

By then, the winged boy had been led to the edge of the warehouse, he tripped over some of the guards’ prone forms but was wrenched back to his feet each time by the rope, without fail.

 

“Hey!” Tony screamed, firing up his thrustors and propelling himself to where the boy was torn into the hallway, a scared mewl of terror falling past his lips as the man’s hand grabbed the front of his shirt, beginning to attempt running down the hall.

 

“Please, please… n – n – no m – more… no m’re.” The brunette whispered, watery eyes being roughly tossed forward, away from where Tony slammed into the scientist from behind.

 

The man went down with a grunt, Tony could hear Natasha and Rhodey only feet from behind him. The scientist began writhing and fighting beneath him, clawing his way to where the teen had crawled away from the commotion, slumping against a wall and curling into a tiny ball, his wings wrapping around his trembling body as his chest constricted with every stuttering breath.

 

“You experimented on a _child_?!” Tony bellowed, slamming the man’s head back into the floor. “You mutated him and kept him in a cage?! Like some sort of animal? Treated him… like a weapon,” Tony huffed as he brought a fist down on the scientists face, not caring in the slightest when the man cried out and tried pitifully to block the blows he deserved.

 

Rhodey grabbed his fist and hauled him off the scientist who was now as bruised as the quivering mass of feathers and curly hair in the corner. “I… I…” Tony stuttered as he looked over to the kid.

 

“I know, we’re fixing this, getting him detained. Help him – he looks like he’s… like he’s having a tough time getting his breathing under control,” Rhodey said, nodding his head towards the boy. Tony gulped and exited the suit, quietly approaching the corner where the teen was huddled.

 

“Hey… hi, kid.” The boy didn’t respond, if anything he curled his wings tighter around himself like a shelter. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Tony whispered, getting down to one knee, hesitant to initiate physical contact. “Just… just listen to my voice, focus on your heartbeat and breathing.” He paused, giving the poor thing time to process his words. “Now try to slow your breaths down. In, and out. Again, in and out, in, out.” He heard a gasp as the boy followed his instructions perfectly, sucking in and out, holding until Tony exaggerated his own exhale. “Great, that’s perfect,” he praised softly.

 

Tony watched the teen’s shoulder slightly unhunch, his feathers ruffling for a second before seemingly soothing as his eyes peaked up from where he had buried them into his knees. “Hiya…” Tony breathed out quietly, his eyes widening when he saw the largest, brownest eyes peering back at him, a wide and curious expression tinting their gaze. “I’m Tony,” he explained evenly, laying a hand over his chest. “That man is Rhodey, and over there is Natasha.” The boy’s eyes flickered behind Tony for a moment, watching as the other two Avengers called in for authorities and S.H.I.E.L.D agents to come and take the scientist somewhere he wouldn’t be making anymore ‘weapons.’

 

“You see that guy, on the ground?” Tony asked, watching as Peter glanced down at the scientist before shivering and furling a little further in on himself. “He’s a bad person – he hurt you. We’re making sure he goes away for a long time, so nothing will hurt you again.”

 

The boy looked up at him owlishly, his impossibly round eyes reflecting the light. “Do you have a name? Any family, so I can get you back home?” The teen’s body stiffened up before relaxing again. His tongue darted out and licked his lips nervously, eyes flickering to the ground anxiously.

 

“P – Peter…” he answered, his voice light and less haunted than Tony was worried about, he smiled proudly, gingerly lifting a hand to gauge how comfortable the boy, Peter, would be with contact. “I don’t… I don’t have family left. My aunt, she was… they hurt her when they took me, she’s gone.” Tony closed the gap, resting his hand gently on Peter’s knee, squeezing softly.

 

“Then I guess I’ll give you a home then,” he said.

 

“H… home?” The teen asked curiously, his hand furling out and bumping Tony’s wrist tentatively.

 

“Yeah, home. No cage, no rope, just a bed, roof over your head, food, water, anything you need, okay?” Peter stared up at him with massive eyes which were beginning to well with tears again. Tony worried he had messed something up, said something wrong to make him upset.

 

But then he felt two hands reaching out and wrapping around his neck. He saw Peter curling into _him,_ and not himself.

 

Two, large wings folded around him, brushing against his shoulders and behind his back. It felt amazingly soft, and Tony instinctively lifted an arm and cupped the back of Peter’s neck.

 

“You aren’t a weapon… you’re an innocent kid who just needs a home,” he said almost silently.

 

“Need family,” Peter murmured lightly, pressing himself into Tony’s neck, burying his cold nose into his pulse point and melting into a hug which he hadn’t experienced in too long. “Need a Dad,” the boy whispered quietly.

 

“Like I said kiddie… you can have anything you need.” Tony smiled into the cocoon of blue and red tipped feathers, holding the already healing child close in his arms, letting him cling on like his life depended on it. “And if you need a Dad… I’m right here for you,” he admitted softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	15. Betrayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Richard and Mary Parker's plane went down in the ocean, and Tony found a young Peter who hadn't died in the wreckage?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

“Hey kid,” Tony called easily, watching Peter curl around a school of small, silver fish as he swam towards him.

 

“Hi Mr. Stark!” He piped happily, his pectoral fins swaying to a stop as he floated shyly amongst a small area of kelp. “What are we doing today?”

 

“Not sure, we could excavate that shipwreck over by the reef, or we could go see Aldrich?” Tony drifted to where Peter was lazily poking at a small anemone with his tail. “I bet he has another one of those waterproof projector bulbs lying around somewhere…” Tony pressed, watching Peter flipping to face him.

 

“That sounds awesome. Do you think I can try out more of those taser things?” Tony rolled his eyes, swimming upward and ruffling Peter’s curls as he went. A cloud of bubbles from his tail rose over Peter’s face, he laughed as he left the smaller teen below him, still playing with anemones.

 

Eventually Peter caught up with him, the boy had always been the fastest, Tony always blamed it on his extra fins. “You can’t just run off and then look surprised when I swim circles around you,” Peter teased, twirling slightly to showcase his skills.

 

“No, but I can do this!” Peter yelped when Tony swam close enough to grab his left wrist, slowing him down enough to flip over and clutch the back of his neck, pulling the teen into his chest as the two of them rolled dizzily.

 

“You suck, such a cheater,” Peter huffed. Tony grinned, knowing there wasn’t any heat in the kid’s words, at least judging by how he had gone slack in the embrace, sneaking a sly hug in where he could.

 

“Sure kid, _sure_.” He snarked, curling the tiniest amount closer before letting go and brushing the edge of Peter’s tail fins as he glided past. “You remember the rules about seeing Aldrich?” He asked, quirking a brow at the boy as he swam backwards to watch him.

 

“Yep, don’t go up to the surface alone, never get near boats, stay away from beaches and –”

 

“Always take a hidden tracker,” they both said in unison, Peter with an eyeroll and Tony with a firmer tone.

 

“I’m not joking,” he pressed, flicking Peter with his tail as they swam closer to shore.

 

“I know,” Peter said calmly, exaggeratedly tapping his small, blue aragonite clip. It was pinned behind his ear, bright and entangled in his wild, honey curls. He smiled broadly, watching as Tony double checked it was clipped in securely. Peter didn’t say it aloud, but he had kept the crystal in from the moment Tony had gifted it. He found it while he had been out near the sea floor, harvesting some things or scavenging for human tools he loved to toy around with.

 

Peter couldn’t bear to part with the first gift he had ever been given, and he felt indebted to Tony. He grew up knowing only what Tony had told him, that he found a baby Peter curled up amongst the kelp, crying softly and barely old enough to speak or swim on his own. He had taken Peter in, agreeing to keep him healthy and safe until another family came along. A couple, May and Ben, had been overjoyed to raise a child of their own, but by that point, Peter missed Tony too much to just forget about him, so that’s why Peter was now Tony’s protégé.

 

Tony foraged through wreckage and collected human tools, devices, all sorts of mechanical things which he could build with. Peter started helping, and they tinkered with thing until one of them managed to make something useful.

 

On top of that, Tony somehow knew a human who had access to an entire lab, full of almost ay mechanical equipment and tool the two nerds could imagine.

 

“Okay, drift back to the land of the living, kid,” Tony flapped a webbed hand in front of Peter’s eyes and laughed as the boy startled. “Almost there, try not to hit your head this time,” he warned, pressing his hand against a drainage pipe and swimming along beside it until he found the spare hatch. “So, you want another play with the tasers?” Tony asked as he pulled open the door and playfully nudged Peter inside before swimming in himself.

 

“Uh, yeah!” Peter said excitedly, moving up the pipe and carefully slowing before he actually reached the top of the system, unlike last time where he had swum head first into the door in his excitement. He tugged on Tony’s arm like an eager child as he lifted the final seal and ushered him into the small pool within a basement.

 

“Hey, Pete n’ I came to visit, kid wants to try out more of those tasers – he wouldn’t shut up about them eith –” Peter cut Tony off from where he had pressed a small intercom, elbowing him in the ribs.

 

“Coming down now,” Aldrich buzzed back.

 

“Quit it,” Tony said, pushing a handful of water into Peter’s face, laughing when he coughed and spluttered, adjusting between breathing through his gills and mouth.

 

Peter had the ability to do both, which was why he only had a set of gills at his neck, beneath his pulse point, whereas Tony had gills just underneath his ribs and above his hip, because he could only breathe water. As long as he kept one set of gills in the water, he was fine, but Peter could sit at the edge of the pool or even crawl around for a while before he got too out of breath.

 

“You little minnow,” Tony yelled, grabbing Peter by the elbows and hauling him back to the shallow side of the pool, pinning him against the wall and mussing up his hair until the teen slapped his hands away and huffed irritably.

 

“Stop calling me a minnow, I’m almost sixteen!” He demanded, putting little effort into pushing Tony away. “Let go or I’ll hug you,” he threatened loosely, knowing Tony wouldn’t care either way.

 

Tony pushed away and laughed, sinking lower into the water so his chin was just brushing the surface, watching as Aldrich opened the door and waved to them both.

 

“Hey guys, you wanted some tasers?” He held one in his hand, watching Peter swim closer.

 

“Woah!” The teen awed, taking the offered weapon and aiming it as if to shoot. “These are awesome,” he gushed, looking around for something to hit.

 

“You could try hitting this,” Aldrich suggested, moving a dummy forward with his foot. Tony eyed the scorch marks lining the torso. As Peter aimed, completely focused on his shot, Tony swam closer to where Aldrich stood.

 

“So, has your new synthesis done anything for the test subjects’ resistance to higher temperatures?” Aldrich shook his head.

 

“No, they all keep… getting fevers,” he finished, keeping the very harsh reality from both Tony and the boy. Neither of them needed to know that the Extremis had been evoked on a few unwilling patients… not to mention the death rate.

 

“AH!” Tony turned as Peter screamed, water splashing around as he twirled to face the teen. He expected the worst, but all he saw was Peter excitedly waving around the taser, pointing at the dummy which he had hit dead-on. “Look! Mr. Stark, first try! Beat that,” he challenged, swimming over to put the taser in Tony’s hand.

 

“Who sucks now, you gave me a heart attack.” He complained, snatching the taser confidently and not bothering to move from his place at the opposite end of the pool. He raised his arm and fired, not hitting as close to the heart as Peter had, but instead piercing the dummy’s neck with a clean shot.

 

“That was awesome!” Peter cried, ducking underwater and jumping up to where Aldrich was crouched beside the pool, right next to Tony. “How’d you learn to do that?!” He asked, grabbing Tony’s arms and splashing excitedly beside him. “You gotta teach me! We should make one that works underwater, and then we can totally –”

 

“Woah, calm down, it’s a taser. Of course we can make one.” Tony said, laying a hand over Peter’s shoulders and pushing him down gently until everything up to his neck was submerged. That was another thing about Peter, he got cold easily out of the water, and often times needed to be dragged back underwater before he started shaking like a leaf.

 

“Where’d you learn to shoot, Tony?” Aldrich asked, carefully taking the taser from Tony’s outstretched hand and putting it somewhere dry.

 

“Had to learn back when I was a kid, my parents lived near a reef and we had lots of divers drifting too far out and finding us. I learnt to protect myself, and besides, it’s always useful in case we get any marine biologists tracking us with echo location and getting too close.” He hung an arm over Peter’s shoulders, lazily rubbing the side of the boy’s head, running his hand through dripping wet curls.

 

“That’s… interesting to note,” Aldrich said, his infliction was a little out of the ordinary, but he brightened up again quickly. “I made you two communicators, they’re like phones, but for in the ocean, and you don’t need to worry about swimming too deep, they don’t need satellites to function.” Peter held his hands out and caught the small device that Aldrich dropped into his palms.

 

Tony and Peter couldn’t see through the well-woven veil that Aldrich had draped over them. The two of them only saw the façade of a helpful gift, when in reality, they had played into their enemy’s hands, giving Aldrich their trust.

 

\----

 

“We should be back same time next week,” Tony called as he regretfully tugged Peter back to the hatch almost four hours later. “Come on,” he said to Peter as they both dove back under the surface, relaxing minutely as they were completely submerged again. “You know how worried May gets,” Tony fussed, pushing Peter into the pipe and closing the door behind them.

 

“Yeah, I know. It just sucks we can’t have as much tech in the water.” Peter sighed, looking longingly at the phone-like device he held. “At least we get these things, you wanna try it out?” He perked back up, playing around with some settings on his phone as Tony pushed open the final hatch and they swam out into the open ocean.

 

“Yeah sure, try messaging me, or calling,” he suggested, watching Peter click a few buttons before turning to watch Tony’s phone, waiting less than patiently. After a moment of delay, Tony’s device lit up, displaying Peter’s message.

 

The teen’s face lit up, he curved around in a circle before swimming around Tony, his pectoral fins brushing alongside his mentor’s tail.

 

“This is so cool! It’s amazing, Mr. Stark! Don’t you think?” Tony laughed, watching Peter spin around happily, clutching the phone to his chest and going red across his pale cheeks.

 

“They’re pretty useful,” he admitted, gradually picking the pace back up, swimming deeper into the sea, further from higher populated areas where humans posed as a threat. He didn’t say aloud that it made him feel more secure, knowing he could contact Peter and check in on him whenever he needed to.

 

“Oh my god! They have video calls! Look, pick up – pick up – pick up!” Peter chanted, swimming further away from Tony and turning his back on him, laughing when his mentor picked up the call only to see Peter pointing the camera right back at him, as if Tony were watching himself from another angle. Peter laughed and swam back in stride with Tony, still eagerly tapping through many settings all throughout the swim home.

 

“Pete, tomorrow, we can go check out a newer wreck, alright?” Peter nodded happily, smiling brightly at Tony before swimming back to May.

 

Tony smiled, the usual warm feeling in his chest as he watched the kid yawning after another day they could spend together.

 

\----

 

Peter’s phone buzzed at four, the next morning. He groaned lazily and rolled over, swiping it up and squinting at the screen. An unknown number had sent him a link to a news article from over fifteen years ago.

 

The teen scrunched his face up in displeasure as the bright white light from the device stung his tired eyes. He squinted at the article, deciphering words with little difficulty as he woke more and more with each sentence.

 

_Plane goes down over Pacific Ocean. Renowned scientists Richard and Mary Parker found deceased in the wreckage, the body of their child, Peter Parker, has yet to be found._

 

The article went on and on about how the crash occurred, information on the scientists lives and backgrounds, but little was written about their baby… who’s age was never specifically stated, but the blurry photograph of the couple shown cradling a child in their arms looked eerily similar to the age he was when Tony said he found Peter in the kelp.

 

_Peter Parker… Peter Parker…_

 

“Oh god…” he whispered, touching a hand to the screen and zooming in on the blurry child in the picture. He had dark eyes, unruly curls which had been swept back from his face, and a bright smile across his lips as he giggled at something presumably held behind the camera. “That’s me…” Peter said almost silently into the darkness of his room.

 

The unknown number texted a short message, the buzz of Peter’s phone made him startle slightly.

 

_Tony lied to you. When he found that child, you were still in the wreckage. He has no idea how you had a tail, but he brought you back to the lab to show me, hoping I could provide some sort of answer. I had nothing, and he seemed to be fine with telling you the story about finding you in the kelp._

 

Aldrich, Peter realised, connecting the dots himself.

 

_If you want more of an explanation, come over to the lab now, and don’t say anything to Tony. He’ll only continue to lie._

 

Peter sat fully upright, his face twisting to a frown. He had parents, he obviously could have had a life outside of the ocean. Why would someone he saw as a father lie to him like that?

 

Peter knew how Tony felt about him making the trip to Aldrich on his own, but at the moment, he couldn’t care less. Peter wanted answers, and he needed them _now._

 

\----

 

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Aldrich called evenly, watching Peter rising from underwater once he had closed the hatch. It had locked behind him, but he was oblivious to that fact, too focused on wanting the truth. “Why’re you looking so down, Pete? A little upset now that you know you aren’t a real merperson?”

 

Peter faltered at the edge of the pool, looking up at Aldrich. “That came off a bit harsh, I meant to say, how does it feel, knowing you were human before the plane crash? Does it hurt, knowing your mentor lied like that?” Aldrich’s tone was off, he sounded darker, more predatory and threatening than ever before. Peter could see lab tables and surgical instruments set up along the back walls, he felt a shiver running up his spine.

 

“What else do you know?” He said firmly, wanting information so he could get back home, hopefully to patch things over with Tony, to figure out why he lied for so long.

 

“Nothing else you’d want to know. Everything’s a hypothetical now, Peter. I just want you.”

 

“What… what does that mean?” Peter asked unsurely, backing up as Aldrich stood and circled the edge of the pool.

 

“It means, Tony and I had discussed a theoretical, you must have heard a bit about Extremis, yes?” Peter nodded his head weakly, sinking slightly so only his head stuck out from the water. “Right, well then you probably know that a few of my willing volunteers have been stuck with a fever because their body can’t handle the heat.” Peter stayed silent, watching Aldrich carefully. “That’s a lie too. See how easy it is to lie? All those willing are dead, and the newest batch were all… lets just say they had no homes, and I promised them power they could use for whatever they pleased if they didn’t fight too much.” Peter’s eyes widened – Aldrich had experimented on homeless people…

 

The man smiled, Peter noticed the dark glare in his face now that there was no façade of friendship or trust. “Regardless, willing or not, all of them failed. But, now I have a human-merperson hybrid, and he was stupid enough to show up with no mentor to protect him? It’s the perfect domino effect, Pete. Tony betrayed you by lying, and now I can betray not only you, but also the man who made me promise to never harm a hair on your head.” Peter gaped, slinking backward until he hit the furthest edge of the pool, ducking beneath the surface as Aldrich began to chuckle darkly at his pitiful attempt at escape.

 

Under the water, Peter tugged at the hatch, pulling with everything he had. His tail ached from the strain and his lung contracted as fear squeezed his throat painfully.

 

But none of the psychological pain could compare to the pain of Aldrich shooting a taser into the water beside him.

 

Everything faded to black far quicker than Peter would have imagined.

 

\----

 

Peter woke up with a sore chest, his head ached and pounded angrily, his tail felt too heavy, like a string of bowling balls strapped to him. There was a freezing metal slab beneath him, his wrists wouldn’t move but he could feel something, like a curling heat throughout his veins. He squirmed uncomfortably, his tail slapped uselessly against the edge of the table, his body limp yet sharp with pain.

 

There wasn’t much else to focus on, aside from the ache throughout his body, and he decided nothing was worth staying awake for at that point, and if he knew, logically, that his mentor would be saving him… hopefully… he may as well squeeze his eyes shut and wait it out.

 

\----

 

“… on’t know if you can tell, but at this moment the body is trying to decide whether to accept Extremis or just give up.” Peter heard Aldrich’s voice, but his mind was fuzzing everything else out, the pain had grown to an intolerable level. His eyes snapped open and he saw red and orange light pulsing beneath his skin, highlighting his veins, making his skin seem almost translucent. “If the body gives up,” Aldrich continued, “I have to say, the detonation is quite spectacular.”

 

Peter couldn’t help but whimper quietly. Every part of him felt like it was burning from the inside out. His head was screaming, his tail was almost numb from the agony.

 

“But until that point, it’s really just a lot of pain.”

 

Everything around him was inputting too much light and sound, he squeezed his eyes shut, gagging on a whine of terror and pain. Peter felt like he was dying, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was already dead and he was literally being burnt in hell, because that’s how agonising it felt.

 

Vaguely, footsteps encroached his field of awareness, and something shifted close to him, a finger brushed the edge of his neck, pushing away a strand of curls.

 

Peter bit his lip hard, a small sob breaching his lips as something pierced his neck.

 

“You really are a maniac,” he heard, a different voice, it sounded like safety, home and rescue. Peter was too deep in the pain to work out why the voice made him untense slightly, but it didn’t last long. A new jolt of white-hot agony ripped through him, starting at the side of his neck and spreading outward and across his body, leaving him too weak to supress his own screams.

 

Peter could feel a different kind of heat building in his eyes, and he was humiliated to realise they were tears building beneath his eyelashes. He cried out as his chest flared in fiery pain. At this point, he couldn’t hold any noise back, and the burn of a raw throat joined the searing pain beneath his skin.

 

\----

 

Tony’s tracker had gone off at around five thirty in the morning. He had gotten a heat sensor warning, something was near Peter and burning too hot for his body to withstand, the blue aragonite clip was almost at its shutdown point.

 

Of course Peter had been in Aldrich’s lab alone, and of course the hatch was locked from the inside, so once he was in, he was trapped.

 

“Killian! What the hell are you doing?!” He yelled, scrabbling at the edge of the pool, trying desperately to rip the man away from where he had been hunched over an unconscious Peter, a needle plunged into the poor kid’s neck.

 

“Ah, Tony,” the man smiled broadly, opening his arms in mock greeting. He glanced back to where Peter began to groan, shifting on the metal bench, his fins drooping unhealthily and gills opening then shutting, as if his body was trying to decide whether he was submerged or not. “I don’t know if if you can tell, but at this moment the body is trying to decide whether to accept Extremis or just give up.” Tony gaped, watching Peter’s skin thriving with warm colours, heatwaves rolling off his flesh like hot asphalt on a summer day. He saw the teen’s face scrunching in pain as he woke, but Aldrich paid no attention to him, continuing on in his monologue.

 

A few minutes later, when Aldrich checked a thermometer and grinned, impressed with how quickly the enhanced boy’s body was reacting, Tony had to watch him pushing another needle into his neck. His heart broke when he heard Peter’s soft sob of terror.

 

“You really are a maniac,” he spat angrily, still clawing at the floor, wishing he could pull himself out of the water to save his… the kid… without suffocating out of water. Aldrich turned towards him, glaring with his eyes, yet still flashing the same toothy grin as he always had, although the dark intentions were far clearer for Tony now.

 

Behind Aldrich, Tony could see Peter struggling against his restraints, and surprisingly, most of them looked as though they were beginning to melt. “How could you?” Tony asked suddenly, hoping that he could keep the man speaking until Peter had a chance to break free. “How could you hurt him? You tried to help me all those years ago, and now you’re stabbing me in the back like this? I _trusted_ you.”

 

“Ahh, Tony…” Aldrich sighed unhappily at him, crouching down beside the pool, just far enough away that Tony wouldn’t have been able to reach him if he threw an arm out. “I wanted someone whose body could withstand more. I needed someone who had no fighting abilities like you, someone who couldn’t be a threat… and someone vulnerable and gullible.” He grinned evilly, barely glancing back at Peter who had dripping metal around his wrists, the cuffs almost burned through from the pure heat.

 

Aldrich moved his head to the side, capturing Tony’s attention again. “Now, tell me… not a fighter, not a threat, someone vulnerable and gullible. Who does that sound like to you?” He laughed bitterly, pointing in Peter’s direction yet not turning his head. “That boy over there, look how weak and placid he is, so easily manipulated.” He leaned in slightly, crouching low to the ground, “all it took was a single message involving his real parents and he was swimming over to me like a tiny little ba –”

 

Aldrich was cut off when he toppled forward, his face smacking the floor as the metal bench crashed over his body, snapping his wrist and ankle in one hit.

 

Tony looked up, gasping when Peter, fiery eyed and red tinted, was glaring Killian down, his body blazing small flecks of ash and fire as he growled lowly. His tail was bright red, his fins transparent and raging a deep ember colour.

 

He threw himself forward, tackling Killian before he even got to his feet.

 

“You lied!” He screamed, his throat leaking flickers of flames as he pinned the larger opponent down with one arm over his throat, his other fist clamping down over his face, scorching him despite the man’s own Extremis. “Mr. Stark would never hurt me! He saved my life that day! You can’t change anything!”

 

Killian finally got a hit in edgeways, throwing Peter back, his body rolling a few feet before he sat upright. Aldrich charged him, not expecting the final blow to be thrown quite so soon in the fight.

 

Peter reared back before slamming his burning tail into Killian’s chest, slamming him so far backward that he left a sizeable dent in the back wall of his own lab, crumpling to the floor in a fiery mess of overheating human flesh.

 

“Peter…” Tony started, watching Killian’s still weakly flailing body burning up far too fast. “He’s overheating!” He yelled, reaching out and grabbing the boy’s wrist, wincing as it burned slightly.

 

Peter rolled into the water and Tony pulled them under the surface as Killian’s body gave into the intense, flaming heat. There was a massive but muffled explosion, fire raging over the surface of the water. Peter wrapped around Tony, his tail furling up and looping around his mentor’s.

 

Steam bubbles were rising to the surface as Peter cooled down instantly, his face cold enough to shove into the crook of Tony’s neck as apologies already began spilling from his lips.

 

“Shh, shh… it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, you’re amazing.” Tony whispered, watching Peter’s gills flaring inward and outward, tiny bubbles still rising from around his cheeks and ears, the parts of his face which cooled the slowest.

 

“I’m sorry, Killian was wrong. You could never lie to me maliciously… you saved my life, and I love you for that. You raised me, Mr. Stark, and I could never throw that away.” Tony pressed a kiss to the top of the boy’s head, burying his nose into them and holding his kid tighter than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
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> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
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> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
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> <3


	16. Car Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When May dies in a car crash, and Peter is left to live on the streets, what does Tony do when he hears a homeless boy being yelled at from his limo window one night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

_Peter shut the car door as he settled in his seat. He smiled across at May, she was wearing a light green singlet and her hair was out, she didn’t look as tired as she normally did, and Peter was glad she had gotten a day off._

_“Hi sweetie, how was your day?” She asked, starting the ignition and pulling out of the empty parking lot. Peter liked the school when it was quiet, but it only ever was on days where he had decathlon practice late after school._

_“It was okay, Ned and I managed to finish an AT AT walker, which was cool.” He hummed contentedly as May took a left and slowed near the lights. “What about you? Did you get to wake up late like you wanted?”_

_May opened her mouth to answer, turning her head slightly to face Peter, but everything was moving too slow and Peter felt something throbbing angrily in the back of his skull. May seemed to notice his eyes going wide, how his face was paling._

_But no matter how much warning his senses gave him in the moment, he couldn’t have done anything. Nothing at all. One minute he was relaxed in the familiar car seat, chatting with his aunt happily._

_And then, in the next moment, his head was hitting the dashboard and the back window was shattering inward as a Nissan four-wheel drive was slamming into the back of their car and rolling them into the middle of the intersection._

_There was a split second in which he jolted forward, May cursing loudly, but the next, he was being thrown against the window, the car spinning as a pickup truck rushing to pass an orange light careened into the drivers side and everything went black._

_\----_

_His head was screaming, his eyes felt like they were going to melt out of his skull and join the mess of his bloody nose. His chest stung from where the seatbelt had cut across his chest. He groaned, his mind fizzling in and out, random equations he had spent half an hour memorising in decathlon flickered in-between the short, choppy images of glass spraying and the dashboard rearing up to connect with his face._

_“Aunt May!” He yelled, jolting suddenly. His head pounded harder with the movement, but he scrambled to un clip his seatbelt. “May?! May, are you o… M – May?” He cut himself off with a choked sob as he caught the twisted lumps of bloody metal in place of the driver’s seat. “MAY! Please, help! HELP! Please, please god help me! H – help… h – h – help!” He heaved, his guts rolling as he turned away, tears streaming down his face an creating a horrific watercolour out of his bloody nose. He cupped his face and dropped his head against the cracked passenger window, sobbing his guts out as the world swirled away along with the sounds of sirens joining with red and blue lights._

 

\----

 

Tony had just finished an early evening press event and was stretched out in the back of his limo. He was tried, sober as ever, and his feet hurt from being on them all night. He sighed and looked out at the street lights buzzing past. Sometimes on nights like this, when he was overtired and sore, all he wanted to do was press his face against the window and watch the areas of New York all roll past until he was at the Tower again.

 

That’s what he was doing tonight. Staring out the window and looking at the late-night bars, drug stores and sandwich shops which were being closed for the evening.

 

Happy pulled to a stop at the next red light, and Tony absentmindedly stared at a woman counting out her change at the checkout through a shop window, bored out of his mind. She was old, it looked like she was buying a bunch of celery, judging by the green leaves sticking out from her bag.

 

Vaguely, he could hear muffled voices floating in through the window, but a much louder and more aggressive sounding tone caught his attention. He rolled the window down a tiny crack, letting the sound flood into the backseat as he cranes his head forward slightly, trying to get a look at who was   
yelling and what exactly they were saying.

 

“… it’s _disgusting_ \- you’re unhygienic. You need to stop coming around here every few nights. That’s right, don’t think I haven’t noticed you in the security footage.” Tony perked up, listening more intently. Was it a smelly drunk trying to mooch food from the small sandwich shop the voices were floating from? “You should get cleaned up, maybe find yourself a job, for starters. You want food? You _buy_ it. Don’t go rummaging through the dumpster after we throw a load out. You’ll catch something, and it’s bad for my business.”

 

Tony squinted, tilting his head in confusion. Digging through the trash, needing a job? It sounded like the stereotypical drunk, homeless man trying to pull food from the garbage.

 

Personally, Tony thought it was always a shitty thing to do, tell a homeless person they aren’t allowed to eat the day-old food from a store, which was being thrown into the garbage anyway. It was why old tech from Stark Industries was always sent somewhere where it could be repurposed or   
donated to people in need.

 

_Why be a dick when you could be a decent human being_?

 

At least, that was Tony’s motto.

 

“Get lost or I’ll call the police, if I find you rummaging through the trash and scaring off customers again, I’ll get you sent to an orphanage or somewhere worse. It wouldn’t surprise me if they stuck someone like you in juvie.”

 

Tony froze as the car began pulling forward as the light changed. _Orphanage_? That didn’t make sense… how could a homeless man be put in an orphanage?

 

As Happy pulled past where the voice was primarily floating from, Tony got a good look at a middle-aged man in a flour dusted apron, pointing down the street. He also saw a small figure, silhouetted by streetlights, the form looked like it would come up to his collarbones, and Tony wasn’t the tallest adult in the first place.

 

He had no doubt, that this person was a child.

 

“Happy, pull over, now.” He said, already unclipping his seat belt hurriedly. He wasn’t an overly selfless or selfish person, but he wasn’t about to drive past where a potentially homeless child was being degraded and yelled at like this.

 

As soon as the car slowed, he jumped out, walking briskly past the shop owner and not caring as he swept by rudely, brushing past him without any care.

 

“Kid, hey!” He called, breaking into a jog before slowing down when the small figure turned abruptly, skittering backward a few steps. The person was already halfway down an alley way, Tony could see a sheet of snow moistened cardboard and a single, dented can of uncooked lentils sat beside a few discarded rubbish bags.

 

“I - I’m s - sorry Sir. I - I don’t… I don’t do _that_.” The person – a boy, he realised – stuttered timidly.

 

Tony raised an eyebrow curiously, but stepped closer, finally seeing the boy in the light for the first time.

 

He was _young_. As in, fourteen or fifteen at the most. He had massive brown eyes, watery and red-rimmed, pink tinted cheeks and nose from the cold. Honey brown strands of hair stuck out from under an itchy looking, yellow beanie. The locks curled up at the edges and the boy’s hands were extended in a ‘surrender’ motion.

 

“What do you mean?” Tony asked, not fully understanding what the kid had thought he wanted.

 

“I - I mean I don’t… I’m sorry, I don’t…” the boy looked down nervously at Tony’s belt as he trailed off. “Y’know, f - for money, I don’t do that… I don’t want to.”

 

Tony stiffened when he finally realised what the kid meant.

 

He wanted to punch something so badly in the moment, but it wouldn’t have done anything except frighten the obviously jittery boy in front of him.

 

This child thought that Tony followed him into the alley to ask for… _things_ … in exchange for money.

 

“No. No - _hell no_. I don’t want that, I don’t like that at all.” He clarified firmly, shoving away the mere thought, violently. “I just heard the shop owner back there, and… I have a lot more money than I can spend so, whatever you need, I can arrange something. Kids shouldn’t be out on the streets.” He smiled weakly, shrugging as he did.

 

The boy gaped at him disbelievingly, an awestruck expression on his face. “What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?” Tony continued, watching the boy swallowing nervously.

 

“P - Peter. Peter Parker,” he answered honestly, swallowing with a nervous twitch.

 

“Okay Peter,” Tony said, “take that horrible thing off.” He waved a hand at Peter’s ugly and unhelpful extra layer, which did almost nothing against the winds whipping through the cooler night air. “And here, take my jacket. I’m not bothered by the cold anyways.”

 

The boy’s hands trembled as he watched Tony shrugging off his own jacket.

 

“S - Sir… thank you, thank you _so_ much. I - I can’t take that from you. It’s designer and you should keep it for yourself an –”

 

“It’s never going to be worn again,” he interrupted. “I want you to have it,” Tony assured quickly.  
He watched as Peter cautiously pulled off the least helpful layer of clothing, his beanie falling off in the process.

 

A mass of wild curls bounced out, the light hit them, and they looked almost golden for a moment. Tony stared blankly as the boy gently put the jacket on, treating it with so much respect, almost as if it were pure gold.

 

Somehow, the ridiculously precious treatment of a piece of clothing had made Peter seem so much more innocent and younger. Painfully young.

 

Tony bit the inside of his cheek, looking back to the cardboard and dirty, dented can of lentils which had obviously been found at a canned food drive. Something curled inside of his chest, begging Tony to wrap himself around this pure, adorable yet unfortunate kid, and never let go again.

 

“You know what,” Tony said quietly, “you deserve a hell of a lot more than that.” He looked decisively, straightening up. “You need to shower, and to wash your hair, then sleep, and definitely eat too.” Tony tucked a tentative arm around Peter’s shoulders, softly guiding him to the car.

 

He stilled when Peter froze at his side. “You okay?” He asked worriedly, observing how Peter was shifting from foot to foot, looking between Tony and the limo.

 

“A – are you… are you taking me to a shelter… or s – somewhere else?” Tony’s head clicked, he was a stranger to this boy, and clambering into the back of an extravagant limousine with someone who Peter originally worried wanted to pay him for services, was understandably something the kid needed to think about.

 

“I’m taking you to the penthouse at Stark Industries. It’s only three blocks away and my driver is Happy Hogan,” he gestured to the window, which rolled down slightly as Happy nodded kindly in Peter’s direction. “You can use my phone to watch the directions, I totally get that trust doesn’t come easily. Know that we’ll pull over and stop at any point if you feel uncomfortable or threatened, okay Pete?”

 

The teen nodded shakily, taking Tony’s phone in his hands and staring at the small blue dot which hovered in one place.

 

\----

 

Peter sat still in the limo, looking down at the phone, trying not to touch anything. The shop owner was right, he felt filthy. He hadn’t properly cleaned himself in weeks, aside from each night when he would wash a different part of his body in the sink of a public bathroom. He felt almost like a wild animal sometimes.

 

Tony was sat opposite him, trying to seem as non-threatening and laid back as possible. For no good reason, Peter felt calmer around the man’s cool exterior.

 

“Do you have family?” Tony asked suddenly, trying to fill the silence as well as getting to know the homeless kid he was taking care of.

 

“Uh… I - I did.” Peter managed, “my parents died when I was younger, I lived with my aunt and uncle for a while before my uncle was shot. And um… a couple months ago, my aunt and I got into a car accident and… yeah, sh – she didn’t… she didn’t make it.” His voice trailed off near the end, barely even loud enough to be called a whisper.

 

Tony looked at the boy sympathetically. Two dead parents, and then a dead uncle, and now an aunt who died in a car accident with him in the car? This boy was quite possibly traumatised.

 

“How old are you, kid?” He continued, moving along with the subjects.

 

“Fifteen,” Peter answered shyly. Tony held back a gape, the kid was practically a baby in his book.

 

“Jesus… you’re all alone out there. I can’t believe that,” Tony murmured. He wanted to reach out and squeeze Peter’s hand reassuringly, but he had no idea where they stood with physical contact and affection.

 

\----

 

He looked up at Peter when he felt Happy pulling into the garage. “You can sleep here tonight, I can’t let you curl up in some random alley. It’s not right.” His morals were stiff and hardset. He had so many spare rooms, why would he ever consider _not_ letting a fifteen-year-old living on the streets with four deceased family members stay the night? Tony opened his door, leading him to the elevator and pressing the penthouse button.

 

Peter’s eyes widened, he opened his mouth to speak before closing it again, then repeated the step a few times over. Finally, he settled on a weak nod of his head as the elevator rose.

 

“Thank you… really, I don’t… I don’t know how to repay you,” Peter stuttered, unsure of how he would ever be able to make it up to Tony.

 

“You don’t need to thank me. Seriously kid, I just want you safe and not out on the streets.” When the elevator opened, Peter audibly gasped, staring at the spotless and extravagant room before him.

 

“I - I can’t. I’m dirty, I don’t wanna –”

 

“Oh, hush kid, it’s fine. I have cleaners, and you need a shower plus something to eat.” Tony softly pushed Peter in the direction of a massive bathroom, smiling when the boy let his own grin slip. “There’s a shower and a bath tub, help yourself to anything in there, I have way too much soap and stuff, and please don’t rush, take your time. Wash your hair, bubble bath, whatever the hell you feel like.”

 

Peter looked up at him, Tony could see his eyes watering. He tensed, thinking he had done something wrong.

 

“Thank you,” Peter managed, grabbing Tony’s hand suddenly and squeezing it tightly. “You… you don’t have any idea how much this means.”

 

Tony smiled wider, rubbing a hand through unwashed curls and squeezing Peter’s hand right back. The fingers were soft and so worryingly thin and small.

 

“And you have no idea what I’d do to stop a kid like you from having to live on the streets,” he admitted quietly. Peter blushed from under a layer of grime, he turned and wiped his eyes, wandering quietly into the bathroom and closing the door.

 

\----

 

When Peter came out of the bathroom almost three quarters of an hour later, he found a note telling him to meet Tony in the kitchen, and that the elevator would take him straight there.

 

Tony was just serving soup, when Peter walked in. It was an Italian recipe his mother had taught him. He memorised it by the time he was eight. The decision hadn’t even been a conscious thought, his hands just began to sort and prepare the ingredients, running on auto-pilot as he worried whether the teen may have allergies or any food dislikes.

 

When Peter padded into the kitchen, Tony almost didn’t recognise the boy and had to do a double take.

 

Peter was tiny. He absolutely swam in the clothing Tony had left out for him – pink yellow kitty pants and an oversized tourist shirt. His hair was wet but clean, the curls had tightened up and they hung past his ears, overgrown yet entirely adorable. He had rosy cheeks and a light blush across his nose. His eyes were still the same large, hazel orbs, but they were no longer rimmed red. His eyelashes stood out, long and dark, very similar to Tony’s.

 

Peter’s collarbones were pronounced, as the rest of the bones were too. He was scrawny and looked even younger than what he had said. Tony’s mind screamed to protect this child, one who had been living on the streets for months.

 

“Hey,” he called, smiling brightly when Peter perked up immediately at the sound of his voice. Maybe he wouldn’t be such a horrible influence on the boy’s life.

 

“Thank you,” Peter said quickly, “that was amazing. I haven’t felt hot water for months.” He stood to the side, watching Tony’s ministrations as he served up the soup, missing the way his hand clenched around the mixing spoon as he realised Peter hadn’t had access to a shower for _that_ long.

 

“How much do you want?” He asked, holding a serving spoon over the pot, quirking a brow at Peter curiously.

 

“Uh… o - oh. I don’t need any, it’s all yours, b - but thank you.” Tony frowned, then smiled and shook his head almost fondly.

 

“Kid, I made this for _you_. It’s yours, you gotta eat.” He poured two servings into a large bowl and pushed it across the bench, gesturing for Peter to sit, which he did, hesitantly.

 

“This is… this is too much, Sir, I can’t pay you. I don’t have money and you’re too kind to offe –”

 

“Peter, I _want_ to do this,” Tony interjected. “I don’t want money, I don’t need anything from you.”

 

“It’s just… wh - why are you being so kind to me? What did I do to deserve all of this?” Tony’s face softened, trying not to think about how many people had probably been kind to the poor kid over the past few months. Likely none.

 

“You didn’t do anything, I just can’t live like I do – knowing that a child like you is out on the streets sleeping on soaked cardboard and rifling through the trash for dinner each night.” Peter hunched into himself slightly, his eyes burning as he remembered each night he had been curled up at the back of an alleyway or head first in a dumpster, looking for food.

 

“Thank you, for everything.” He said sincerely, looking down at his almost empty bowl. He wanted to throw himself across the bench and cling to the first person who had given him any flicker of care since he saw May’s cold hand being gently lifted into a body bag, a wrecked and mangled car behind her.

 

“There’s a lot more where this comes from, kiddo. I want you to stay here for a bit, get healthier, actually have a full night’s sleep each day.” Peter jerked upward, staring owlishly at Tony, not believing anything that he had just heard, opting to parrot it back as a question instead.

 

“I - I… you want me t - to… to stay _here_? With you?” Tony nodded his head, prepared to deal with the pushback, the reluctance to accepting the offer.

 

Instead he was met with an armful of watery-eyed teenager, a clean, soft face buried into his neck, two small arms wrapped around his neck as quiet sobs racked his form.

 

“Thank you, thank you so much. You don’t know how much th - this means, you don’t have any idea h - how much I appreciate this.” Peter cried, clinging onto the man who delicately patted his back and told him it was alright.

 

“You’ve got me now, you’re not alone anymore,” he murmured quietly into the hazel curls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	17. Heartbreak (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Peter, Harry and Skip went to the same high school?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:
> 
> So, it's very, very mildly implied in this chapter, so there shouldn't be any issues, but the actual things that happen with Skip and Peter will be a tiny bit more in depth in coming chapter(s?)
> 
>  
> 
> \----
> 
>  
> 
> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

Peter felt hands on his shoulders, making him jolt suddenly. Fear washed over him for a brief moment, his throat plunging to his stomach like stone. One of the hands dropped to his hand, tugging him backward, so he was facing the opposite direction.

 

“Harry!” He gasped loudly, pushing the slightly taller teen away from him. “Don’t _do_ that!” Harry laughed, pulling himself back to Peter’s side with the hand still holding his wrist.

 

“Morning,” he said amusedly, still stifling his laughter in the halls as Peter began walking to his locker again. “You look nice today,” he softened, squeezing Peter’s hand before slinging it over his shoulder casually, like he had before they started dating.

 

“Thanks,” Peter said quietly, brushing a curl behind his ear when it tickled his temple distractingly. “Didn’t you have practice before school today? Where’s your gear?” He asked, slowing to twist the code on his locker.

 

“Nope, it’s afterschool practice today. You doing anything afterschool?” Peter looks up at Harry and smiled, adjusting his grip on the heavy physics textbooks he was carrying.

 

“No, why?” He flushed slightly when Harry looked back at him from the corners of his eyes, his lips curling upward. “I like studying outside,” he said simply, grinning a little wider. “The football pitch has bleachers too…”

 

“Ah, I see,” Harry laughed. “So, you’re studying afterschool, on the football pitch, at the bleachers?” He bumped Peter’s shoulder lightly, smiling happily when his boyfriend nodded in affirmation. “Well, it just so happens I have practice afterschool, on the football pitch, right by the bleachers.” Harry opened his own locker, watching Peter as he pulled out his own physics books.

 

Peter looked amazing when he smiled like that, his eyes crinkled up and two small dimples became visible on his cheeks, his cheeks were dusted red and his body loosened for a moment, none of the typical tension which he seemed to be carrying around with him on a day to day basis.

 

“Well,” Peter continued, “I guess we’ll run into each other then.” Harry laughed, rolling his eyes fondly. The joke would have gotten old if it were with anyone else, but each day the two of them played the same game. It was routine, Peter lounged happily, reading a book or working through his stacks of homework while Harry had football practice with the rest of his team, and then afterwards, Peter would walk down the steps and Harry pulled him down the last one, kissing his forehead and fluffing up his hair before running off to get changed. Then they would catch the same train, Peter got a ride back to the tower with Happy, and Harry walked the short distance to Oscorp Industries.

 

“We’re going to be late for class,” Harry said suddenly, closing his locker and tugging Peter’s sleeve lightly. He felt the slightly shorter teen leaning against his side lazily as they trudged to class, sitting at the familiar table near the back. Peter leaned on his elbows, listening half-heartedly as the teacher called roll, mostly focusing his attention on where Harry was already copying out the work from his textbook.

 

Physics dragged by, but Peter just kicked Harry under the table if he was bored, earning himself an elbow in his arm and soft laughter from Harry which made his heart flutter. The two of them worked through lab assignments easily, especially considering how often they spent time cooped up in the lab at the tower, experimenting to their hearts content.

 

Harry looked up from where he was measuring out some universal indicator when the door to the classroom opened. One of the seniors on his football team walked in to pass a note on to the teacher. He turned as the teacher squinted at the note, meeting Harry’s eyes and nodding his head in greeting.

 

Skip and Harry knew each other from the team, not well, not enough to be ‘friends.’ They were acquaintances at most.

 

Skip doesn’t know Peter personally, but he does see him everyday during practice. He knows that Harry was dating him, and he’d heard the rumours that Peter was asexual too. He sees Peter look up from were he was writing out formulas and turn to smile at Harry contentedly.

 

\----

 

The rest of the school day goes normally, Peter and Harry sit together in class when they have the same ones and meet up at lunch with their group of friends. When the bell rings for last period, Peter’s swept up by the crowd, reluctantly dodging throughout the rush of students trying to get out the front gates before their bus or train left. Peter went the opposite way to the current of his cohort, instead breaking off to walk across the football field.

 

Harry rushes to pull him in for a quick embrace before running to get changed before practice began, Peter smiles down at the ground warmly and makes his way to the bleachers. He reads, but primarily focuses on dazedly watching Harry running around and practicing drills and plays for an hour or so.

 

When the coach blows the whistle and calls for everyone to hit the showers, Harry meets Peter near the bottom of the bleachers. He pulls off his helmet and shakes his head, taking Peter’s hand and helping him down off the last step, despite the fact that he doesn’t need the extra balance. Peter blushes slightly and leans in to rest his forehead against Harry’s shoulder, humming quietly and mumbling for him to go and get changed.

 

\----

 

At the next morning practice Harry was warming up on the field, thinking about how long until Peter would get to school, when Skip approached and began his own stretches. It was quiet, almost awkward in a way because Skip didn’t often go out of his way to converse with Harry, he mostly stuck with the other seniors on the team.

 

“So,” Skip began casually, “you and Parker, huh?” Harry looked up, raising a brow. “You two _are_ a thing though, right?” Harry squinted up at the taller senior, the early morning sun reflecting off the older boy’s white blonde hair.

 

“Yeah, we are,” he said hesitantly, waiting for what was coming next. He hoped Skip wasn’t about to spout homophobic implications at him. It was too early to hold back his snarky comments anyway.

 

“Is uh… is that rumour floating around real then?” Harry knew exactly which rumour Skip was referring to, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

 

“Yes, Peter is asexual, and it doesn’t change anything.” Harry answered quickly, hoping to move along and just get practice over with before Skip continued. Regardless, the senior continued to press on with his somewhat invasive questions concerning Harry and Peter’s relationship.

 

“You guys must have some sort of like… arrangement, so you can y’know,” Skip had waved his hand in the general direction of Harry’s crotch and he scowled deeply I retaliation.

 

“ _Not that it’s any of your business_ , but I’m perfectly happy with just Peter. I don’t need any of that kind of thing when I’m with him.” Harry made the same motion that Skip had, indirectly telling him that sex wasn’t an issue, and it wasn’t any of his business anyway. “I like him for _him_.” He said firmly.

 

Skip shrugs, muttering a ‘ _sure_ ’ under his breath. Harry huffs irritably once Skip is out of earshot. _Why did everyone assume that Peter being asexual would be such a big issue? It just meant he didn’t crave sexual intimacy, it didn’t mean anything more or less than that. And he was still the best boyfriend anyone could ask for anyway_.

 

\----

 

“Hey, what’s up?” Peter asked worriedly when Harry traipsed into gym class looking run down and completely over the day already. It was only fourth period.

 

“ _Nghhh,_ ” he groaned tiredly, dropping his chin over Peter’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist, yawning sleepily. “M’ so tired…” he complained, another yawn bubbling up as Peter laughed softly and turned around, detaching Harry from around his torso and sitting him down on the benches in the changing room. “Practice sucked,” he sighed, taking both of Peter’s hands and burying his face in them. “’nd I didn’t even get a class with you for the first three periods.”

 

“Aw, Har,” Peter cooed jokingly, pushing Harry’s hair back with four fingers and laughing when his hand was weakly slapped away with no real heat. “I heard your practice was particularly harsh this morning, so I’m not surprised you’re overru –”

 

“Wait, who’d you hear that from?” Peter tilted his head adorably in question.

 

“Uh, the senior from your team. What was his name again… I think, oh! Steven. Yeah, it was the tall one who came into our physics class the other day.” Harry groaned as he peeled off his shirt and pulled on the regulation gym shirt. “What? Why are you groaning?”

 

“He just… ugh, Skip’s kinda an asshole.” Peter blinked, waiting for an explanation. “I don’t know, he’s just stereotypical senior jock douche.”

 

“What? I thought you and him were on good terms, he said hey in the physics room. What happened between then and now?” Harry shrugged, shoving his bag into the locker next to Peter’s.

 

“I don’t know, I just get bad vibes.” He turned to face Peter, taking his hand and smiling tiredly. “But it’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m probably just overtired and reading into things too much.” The two of them walked into the gymnasium just as the senior class was trailing out to get changed.

 

Harry didn’t think much of it, his head was more focused on the teacher yelling for him and Peter to start helping put the mats down.

 

\----

 

He was in a better mood after gym, it had been an easy going lesson, all they had to do was lie down on the mats and do a few different exercises with a partner. Peter kneeled on Harry’s feet, resting his chin on his knees and they both chatted as Harry got his sit ups done.

 

When they walk back into the changing room, Harry turns to open his locker as the door opened. To his surprise, Skip poked his head in the door. He was silent for a moment, his eyes blinking a few times when he saw Peter facing the back wall, changing his shirt. Skip’s eyes caught Harry’s after a moment, and he smiled innocently.

 

“Hey Harry,” he greeted plainly before shifting back to face Peter. “Uh, Peter, you mind if I talk to you outside for a second?” Harry grit his teeth, turning to see Peter looking to him. He softened immediately, not wanting to unintentionally come across as over possessive. _It was right outside the door, and he trusted Peter fully, so he should just stop overthinking it so much._ He forced a smile and watched as Peter returned it, momentarily forgetting what he was stressing about when he saw the pink tint to his nose and noted the way his boyfriend’s curls twisted around the edges of his hairline like small curlicues.

 

“Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

 

As Peter was outside talking with Skip, Harry noticed the code on his locker was untwisted, the door was shut, but not locked.

 

When Peter walked back into the changing room, he was holding a notebook, looking slightly confused. “He uh, he said he found it on the bleachers yesterday after practice. I must have left it there?” Harry looked back over at Peter’s unlocked locker… _He wouldn’t have, would he? No, Skip wasn’t that much of an asshole that he’d take a book from Peter’s locker just to have the chance to chat him up…_

 

\----

 

Harry should have learned to trust his instincts. He really should have just decked Skip as soon as he came into the changing rooms and his eyes lingered too long over Peter’s back, or better yet, he probably should have just punched him when he tried to ask whether Harry and Peter had an agreement where Harry could sleep with other people just because Peter didn’t want to.

 

But he hadn’t, so now he was having to deal with the consequences of not trusting his instincts.

 

It was second period, Harry was walking to history when he felt his phone vibrating once, and then three more times consecutively. He looked down and saw that it was from one of the other boys on the team.

 

_Hey man, I really hate to do this, but I just figured you deserved to know._

 

The next three messages were all pictures, and Harry clicked open the first one, mildly curious just to see what he ‘deserved to know.’

 

It’s a picture of Peter shutting his locker, Skip leant casually against the next one along. Harry rolls his eyes, Skip had been finding more than enough excuses to talk to Peter lately, and now that he knew it was still happening, especially when he wasn’t with Peter, it concerned him to say the least.

 

The next picture only confirmed Harry’s fear and made him even angrier. One of Skip’s hand, sat high up on Peter’s hip, his thumb edged just slightly under the hem of his shirt, enough to give implications. Peter’s face looked slightly uncomfortable, his eyes looking at the hand on his hip disapprovingly.

 

Harry knew exactly why. A hand on Peter’s waist is a suggestive and inherently sexual place to touch somebody. That meant that Peter wouldn’t like it. Harry knew all of that, the only places he ever touched Peter were body parts which could also be touched by a friend and didn’t necessarily mean anything more.

 

The next photo was of Skip grinning, both of his hands on Peter now, one high on his waist again, and the other holding his arm, leading him to a supply closet.

 

\----

 

Harry stewed throughout the school day. He thought that him and Peter were happy. But he was confused, Peter never wanted to do things like _that_. Sure, he was happy holding hands, the occasional, chaste kiss, sometimes forehead, and sometimes Peter liked to reach up and grab Harry’s collar and surprise him with a short, sweet peck on the lips. Only when they were on their own though, Peter was on the fence about acts of public affection, because he was shy. So, Harry didn’t understand why all of a sudden, Peter was hiding in supply closets with seniors at school.

 

He was angry, he felt betrayed and it hurt the most, because he loved Peter enough to live without sex. Harry loved Peter for who he was, and when they were together, sex meant absolutely nothing to him. He loved affection, but it didn’t have to be sexual, he liked Peter leaning his head on his shoulder, he adored when Peter would tentatively brush their pinkies together shyly before he took Harry’s hand and squeezed happily. 

 

He was upset with Peter, but he was considerably angrier with Skip, because he _knew_ Harry and Peter were happy together, he’d even pointed it out at a few practices.

 

So, now Harry was angry at both of them. Skip was obviously aware of Peter’s asexuality, so why the hell did he feel the need to blatantly hit on him in the halls before running into a supply closet and doing who knows what?!

 

\----

 

Harry confronts Peter at the end of the day, before his practice starts. Harry wanted to be calm and rational, maybe there was an explanation for what had happened. For all he knew, maybe it had been a very, very misinterpretation of the situation. 

 

But then he saw the hickeys around Peter’s throat and he _does_ get mad. 

 

He held up his phone and swiped to the three photos. 

 

“I don’t think you should come to watch my practices anymore, and I think we need to take some time apart, because you clearly haven’t figured yourself out yet.” He was looking directly at Peter, he seemed wrecked. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his cheeks were pink from crying. His eyes were watering heavily, tears dripping down his cheeks as he looked at Harry heart-brokenly. “First you don’t need anything from me, which is _fine_ and I understood that, but now you’re hooking up with Skip? In a supply closet?!” He sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his face, gritting his teeth. “I thought we were good together, Peter… I’m not so sure anymore.”

 

As Harry trekked across the empty fields towards practice, he tried to shove away the intrusive thoughts that whispered this wasn’t over yet, and that ripple effects were already in place.

 

More damage would follow the heartbreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	18. Damaged (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuation of what if Peter, Harry and Skip went to the same high school?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:
> 
> So, it was very, very mildly implied in the last chapter, so there shouldn't be any issues there, but the actual things that happen with Skip and Peter will be more in depth in this chapter. There's mentions of what happened, a brief flashback (Skip doesn't actually rape Peter, it's not that graphic at all) and a few derogatory things said in relation to Peter and his asexuality.  
> Please be safe, and I love you <3 virtual hugs <3
> 
>  
> 
> \----
> 
>  
> 
> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

Harry showed up to practice a few minutes late, a lump in his throat and his hands clenched to his sides angrily. He wanted to go home, he just wanted to go back in time and tell Skip to back off from the beginning. But he walked into the changing rooms regardless, ignoring how wrong it felt to pass the bleachers without getting to see Peter.

 

When he walked in, Skip was in a huddle with a couple of the other seniors. They were leaning in a small group, laughing loudly. Skip was talking, everyone’s attention on him as he spoke. He was probably telling a story, but Harry couldn’t find it in himself to care, he just straps his gear on and ignores them as best he can. Little bits of the conversation flitter into his awareness, regardless of how little he wanted to hear.

 

“Nah, I’m telling you guys he wasn’t lying, he _hated_ it. He even cried, can you imagine? What kind of freak hates sex _that_ much?” Harry ground his teeth together so hard he thought they might crack. He didn’t want to know that Peter had cried, he didn’t want to hear about Skip _bragging_ to his friends about whatever he had done with Peter in that closet. “Doesn’t matter though, the whole point was to show him what he was missing out on by acting like a prude.”

 

Harry looked up, scowling darkly in Skip’s direction. Sure, seeing those hickey’s on Peter’s neck had made him angry, but nothing could compare against hearing Skip degrading and tainting Peter’s reputation after they had just been intimate. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. He didn’t know he could ever want to punch someone so badly.

 

“He was fine at first, so it’s cool. He only started crying after a few minutes.” Skip added, shrugging nonchalantly as the rest of the seniors in the huddle whooped and slapped him on the back.

 

Harry threw his shoulder pads down on the bench furiously, they clanged loudly, and Skip’s friends turned to face him, the proud and entertained looks on their faces still hanging like a stupid trophy for Skip to be encouraged by.

 

Harry spun around, storming forward through the few seniors and not hesitating as he pulled back his arms and shoved Skip backward, feeling rewarded by the bang of his back hitting the lockers.

 

“You’re a _pig_ , you knew we were together! You ruined everything!” He pressed hard against Skip’s shoulders, glaring heatedly up at him despite his shorter stature in comparison to the older boy.

 

“Shit Harry. I mean, I know that not being able to get off can make people aggressive, but I never thought you’d be _this_ pissed.” A few of the seniors snickered from behind them both. Harry felt his face burning in anger, the thick lump at the back of his throat reared up as he hissed back at Skip.

 

“You’re _disgusting_ , I can’t believe you, jerk.” He saw Skip’s eyes flicker up and Harry turned in time to slap away one of the other boy’s hands who had reached out to try and calm him down. “Screw you too. You think what he did was funny? You think you should congratulate this asshole for hooking up with Peter and ruining what I had with him?!” 

 

He couldn’t care less about the one or two of the seniors who shifted uncomfortably, their guilt obvious. Harry was more focused on the other four who did nothing except look more entertained. “You’re all sick.” He snapped.

 

“You can call us names all you want, but we know your boyfriend’s the real freak here.” Harry rounded on the senior who had just spoken.

 

“Fuck. You.” He growled, throwing his foot out and connecting with the older teen’s unpadded shin. The boy winced and inhaled sharply, shoving Harry backward and away from him.

 

He stumbled back a step before swivelling back to face Skip and throwing a fist into his side. “You ruined everything we had! We were _happy_!” Skip hit him right back, Harry’s anger fuelled adrenaline filtered out the cold reality of pain as he elbowed someone in the gut.

 

“ _Hey_! What the hell is taking so long, you’re fifteen minutes into practice, get out of there!” The group of teens paused, Skip had a hand fisted in Harry’s collar, the shorter teen in question had his fist in the air, reading to pound one of the other boys who called Peter a freak. The couch was right outside the door, it was probably a good thing staff weren’t allowed in student changing rooms, otherwise the whole team would have been stuck in detention for fighting.

 

Harry shoved Skip away from him, straightening his shirt and fuming as he pushed past the others to get his bag.

 

“I quit,” he spat bluntly, throwing his school bag over his shoulder, not bothering with the rest of his equipment. “Goodluck for the season without a quarterback, assholes.”

 

And with that, Harry stormed out of the locker room, blatantly ignoring the coach’s yelling from back on the pitch.

 

\----

 

When Peter got home to the tower, he walked past his Pop’s art studio and his Dad’s lab, before closing the door to his room, throwing his clothes into the laundry shoot before pulling them back out and throwing them in the trash instead. He didn’t want to wear them again anyway, not after the sleeves were stained with the memory of his own tears.

 

He wore an old hoodie over his pyjamas, and the hello kitty pants Tony had once gotten him as a joke over his boxers. The teen pulled the blankets up and buried his face into the pillow, biting his lip and rolling onto his side to hide the burning of fresh tears.

 

He tried not to think about Harry, or the way he looked as he spoke. “ _I thought we were good together, Peter… I’m not so sure anymore_.” His blue eyes looked more angry than upset, he looked hurt, which is what made Peter curl up tighter.

 

_He had done that. It was his fault Harry had looked so heartbroken and betrayed. He had messed up, even if he hadn’t wanted to do anything – it still happened. He was the one who had broken the trust, he should have been able to fight back more_.

 

Peter stiffened when he heard a soft knock outside of his door, after a few moments of waiting for a reply, the door opened quietly.

 

“Hey, how was your day?” Tony asked, sitting down at the edge of the bed, his fingers tangling in the tuft of curls poking out from beneath the bed sheet.

 

_Horrible. I gave up, I crumbled, and now I feel more damaged than I ever have in my life. I don’t know how to fix it._

 

“Fine,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly on the poorly concealed emotion. “M’ just tired… kinda feeling sick.” He heard Tony make a worried sound before there was a hand pushing his hair back from his face and a cool palm resting against his forehead. He couldn’t help but lean into it, sighing lightly, wishing he could stay suspended in the moment where he could stay curled up with his Dad’s hand checking for his temperature.

 

“Okay buddy, if I talk to Pops and make something light, would you be okay to have it in your room?” Peter shrugged silently, burrowing further under the covers, hyperconscious of the dark marks staining his lower neck and shoulders. “I’d really like you to eat something… could you at least try?”

 

“Okay,” Peter said softly. He felt his Dad leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head, running his fingers through his hair once more before getting up and slowly shutting the door behind him.

 

\----

 

When Peter opened his eyes again, he could hear his Pops quietly speaking in a hushed whisper.

 

“I’m sure he’ll come to us if it’s serious. He could just be worn out, you never know? If he’s still down again afterschool tomorrow, we can put a movie on and let him curl up with us like when he was younger.” Peter could feel one of his parents sitting down beside him, brushing a finger over his cheek a few seconds after he had closed his eyes again. “We have to trust him to come to us when he’s ready to talk.”

 

Peter nudged his head forward slightly, his face gently pressing against who he guessed was his Pop’s palm.

 

“Night Bambi,” Tony whispered, setting a cup of soup down on the bedside table beside him.

 

“Sleep well, Pete.” Steve murmured, ushering a fussing Tony out of their son’s room and leaving the door open a crack in case they were needed overnight.

 

\----

 

Harry wasn’t in the mood for school. He was glad he didn’t have classes Skip, because he was a senior, but that didn’t mean he’d be able to avoid him in the halls.

 

He was sporting a mild black eye from the fight in the changing room during his last practice, but he didn’t care much about that. He worried most of the night about Peter, debating whether calling him was a good idea or not. The comment Skip had made about him crying set off a little worry in the back of his head, but then he just pictured the sark hickeys snaking up over his, no ex, boyfriend’s throat, and he didn’t bother with picking up the phone.

 

The next day however, Peter wasn’t at school. Harry didn’t particularly mind at first, he was already having to deal with seeing Skip in the hallways, and he didn’t want to have to deal with seeing how damaged Peter seemed, on top of everything else. He went through most of his day as usual, minus seeing Peter at lunch, or taking the long route just to show up at his locker, or slipping into the seat beside him in classes they shared.

 

The new routine was broken when Harry’s phone buzzed at lunch with a call from Tony. 

 

At first, he was worried he would pick up to a mouthful of angry, protective lectures from Tony about hurting his son, or breaking his heart. But instead, Tony seemed quite happy, as if nothing had changed.

 

“Hey kid, look I’m not going to be mad, Steve will be but that’s beside the point. Did you and Peter ditch today?” Harry paused from where he was putting books away in his locker, scrunching his eyebrows together in confusion. “Or are you with him? It’s just that the school called, Peter never showed up to his classes, and he’s not at home either.” 

 

Harry closed his locked quietly, reaching a hand up to block the recorder of the phone, muffling the sounds of the school around him as he walked for the back doors. “I get that sometimes kids your age feel the need to rebel, but me and Steve are just a bit worried about him at the moment, so if you could let me know what you guys are up to - or at least that you’re safe, that would be great.”

 

“Uh… y - yeah, we just walked down to the gas station for a soda, I’m really sorry, we’ll walk back now.” Harry looked for any teachers watching before he ducked out of the back exit doors. 

 

Tony didn’t mind, he laughed and told Harry to let Peter know that Pops would probably give him a lecture on education and its importance once he was home.

 

Harry put his phone away and walked on auto-pilot down to the park that him and Peter would always go to afterschool or whenever Harry’s practices were cancelled last minute. He found Peter on one of the secluded benches a few minutes’ walk into the forest.

 

Peter was crying softly. The hickeys were still visible, but Harry took a deep breath and sat opposite him anyway. Peter’s nose and cheeks were red from the cold and his hood was pulled up. Harry noticed him self-consciously tugging the collar up and resting his hand over the bruising, he wiped his cheeks with the back of his sleeve. 

 

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. Peter looked so _hurt_ and broken, he could have never imagined the both of them would be so damaged by just a breakup.

 

“I’m sorry for being so horrible yesterday,” he began. “I shouldn’t have told you not to come to practice anymore, and I should have given you a chance to explain.”

 

Peter doesn’t look him in the eyes, he stares at his lap and blinks away tears which threaten to spill. Harry sighs before continuing. “I was hurt, and I was angry, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you before trying to be rational about it. So, I’m sorry.” 

 

Harry looks up at Peter, waiting for more tears, or an apology, or _anything_ , but all he gets is a stone-faced Peter, staring at a dip in the wooden bench with a bleakness in his eyes that makes him look infinitely more haunted than he deserved to be. “Your Dad called me. Said he was worried about you.” Still, nothing from Peter. “Can I ask why you didn’t tell him about what happened between us?”

 

“I didn’t say anything last night. Just went to bed,” Peter finally spoke. His voice was raw and wrecked, his lips a blotchy red from where they must have been bitten – by Peter himself… or Skip, Harry didn’t know. 

 

He was still looking across at Peter, and he could see the redness around his eyes, and the dark bags underneath them, proving that even if Peter _had_ gone to bed, he hadn’t slept.

 

“Okay… did you uh…” Harry paused, rubbed the back of his neck, “did you want to talk about it? Or just… leave it? Because I can go… if you wanna be alone.”

 

Peter looked up, finally, and stared straight into Harry’s eyes. His deep brown irises stained with fear and uncertainty as he stammered.

 

“No, I… c – can you stay?” He looked back down almost as suddenly as he had looked up, his hand tugging the collar of his hoodie. “Unless you have class… you probably have class –”

 

“I don’t care about class,” Harry interjected. “It’s not like I’d be missing anything anyway.”

 

He wanted to place a hand over Peter’s more than anything, he wanted to ask straight-up what happened? If he was okay... The things Skip had said in the changing rooms still gnawed at the edge of his mind, a constant lump of worry in his stream of thought. 

 

“I can stay, I _want_ to stay here.” He looked up and fixed Peter with a worried expression, “but I also want to know that you’re okay…”

 

Peter looked up at Harry timidly, his eyes flooding with tears.

 

“ _No_ ,” he admitted brokenly, the first teardrop slipping down his face. “I – I’m _not_ okay,” he choked out, his chest stuttering with the effort to pull in a breath.

 

“Peter,” Harry whispered, watching Peter’s hands curling outward towards him and jumping to oblige. “It’s _okay_ ,” he assured, pulling Peter’s head into his chest as he rounded the bench and wrapped his arms around him, resting his forehead against the shorter teen’s curls.

 

“It’s not – it won’t b – be and it isn’t _o – okay_.” Peter cried, his torso and shoulders jolting with the force of his racking sobs. “H – he… he –”

 

“Please tell me what happened, I need to know.” Harry pleaded, sitting down on Peter’s side of the bench and cupping his cheeks gently, wiping as many tears away as he could before resting their foreheads together softly.

 

Harry ran a steadying hand through Peter’s mussed hair, perfectly willing to wait until the uneven breathing of a breakdown slowed into less dangerous territory before taking Peter’s hand and squeezing it reassuringly. “Just start from the beginning,” he encouraged.

 

“He was at my locker, b – before third period. I don’t really know what he wanted, but he was talking to me, a – and I just… I was fine with it, he was being normal, _n – nice_ even. He started, um, g – getting too close, and I knew I wanted him to back off a bit, but I just… I didn’t know how to say it.” 

 

Peter paused, taking a breath and looking down to where Harry was still clutching his hand securely. “He touched my hip, and I didn’t like it, so I tried to tell him I needed to get to English, or I was going to be late. H – he told me he had a class right beside the English block, s – said he would take me. I was s – so focused on trying to figure out a way to say I didn’t want to, I wasn’t even paying attention until he was… opening the storage cupboard and g – guiding me in.”

 

Harry’s grip on Peter’s hand tightened as he noted the brunette’s body language closing in. “I tried to just go, but he was blocking the door, a – and I didn’t know what was happening, b – but he… he started k – ki – kissing me, a – and trying to get me to take my shirt off.” Harry frowned, pulling Peter slightly closer, enough so that he could lean against his side if he broke down again. “I said no, I did. I told him I didn’t like any of it, I t – told him I didn’t want sex, I didn’t want _anything_ ”

 

_“Skip, stop. I don’t… I don’t want this – you know I like Harry, I’m **with** Harry.”_

_Hands, too rough around his wrists, cupping the back of his neck._

_Saliva pressing against his throat, the graze of teeth that felt wrong against his neck and collarbones._

_The strain of his open palms pushing back against Skip’s broad chest. The heavy panting and excited little breaths the senior was taking from where he stood, body pressing Peter’s into the wood of the door._

_“I’m doing this for Harry, you know?” Skip said breathlessly. “As captain, I need to – ugh – make sure he’s got a healthy relationship outside of the team.” Peter pushed harder, forcing Skip to have to move his hands away. “I’m doing it for you too, Petey. I figured you’d learn how to take it like any normal teenager wants to, if you just – fuck, uhhgh – got a taste for it, you’d realise asexuality isn’t really your thing.”_

_Tears burning behind his eyes, a hand lingering between his thighs. The fiery urge to take the boy above him by surprise…_

_A sharp grunt felt too loud in the tiny space when his elbow smacked into the side of Skip’s ribs._

_“I don’t want this – don’t touch me. I like **Harry**.” He said, his heart pounding in his throat as he stepped backwards, his back hitting a broom in the back corner as Skip leered over him._

_“No matter how much you try to deny it, you’re a freak, Peter. And everyone knows that, especially Harry._

 

“H – he… he didn’t stop at first, he was… he just kept – kept doing things, and I pushed him away, but, he… he said some things before he left, and I just… I guess it just hurt.” Peter sniffled quietly and wiped his eyes with his sleeve again, burying his face away into Harry’s shoulder when the tears were replaced as soon as they were wiped away.

 

“What did he say?” Harry asked softly, leaning in to press his lips against Peter’s temple, holding him closer than he ever had.

 

“That he did it for you.” Peter murmured sadly. “He said that he thought teaching me to… take it like a normal person would prove that I would like it… and that asexuality wasn’t ‘my thing.’” Harry’s jaw tightened, his arms pulling Peter much closer.

 

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said after a few minutes of silently pondering. “We’re going to forget about school for the rest of the day, and then get you back home. Once we’re there, I’m going to help you tell your parents, and then we’ll curl up and watch a movie together while Tony and Steve set up an appointment with the principal and Skip’s parents – because there’s no way in hell they’re going to let him keep that football scholarship after this. And I won’t be able to be around him without hitting him again.”

 

Peter nodded silently against Harry’s chest, clenching his hand tighter.

 

“Am I damaged now? A – am I _broken_?” Harry looked down at Peter, gently tilting his chin up so he could see the truth in his eyes when he answered.

 

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and even if this sets you back, you’re still the only person I’ll love this much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> I also found THE COOLEST graffiti I've ever seen (and yes that means it's spider-man related) and I have a picture of it up on my Instagram (yes I am totally wearing a midtown school of science shirt in it)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	19. Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Divergent inspired fic that two beautiful anons suggested on my Tumblr blog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

“Get off me!” Peter yelled, arching his back and jerking forward roughly, trying to dislodge the grips of the six separate men trying to hold him in place as straps were secured around his ankles, wrists and chest.

 

Tony watched helplessly, bucking his own weight in the chair he had been tied to without nearly as much of a struggle. There were who knows how many men that could have been called in, but the majority of the room were focused on Peter. The only men who weren’t watching the teen struggle with a surprising amount of strength were the ones that hunched over their own small bench in the corner, sterilising equipment which Tony didn’t like the look of.

 

“What are those?” He called, tugging at his ankle restraints nervously. “Hey – hey, what are those?!” The men were wheeling the bench closer, not answering until Peter’s final strap had been tightened into place.

 

“These chips allow us to access and manipulate your memories in order to create a simulation of your deepest fears. We’re psychological researchers, and we’d love to see a non-biological pair of subjects, with a mainly paternal-like bond, reacting to the stimuli of our tests.” Tony blinked, his mind whirring as his head attempted to process exactly what the men meant by a pa –

 

“Did you just call me his _son_?” Peter asked from directly across the room, having processed the information much faster than Tony had.

 

“No, we regard you two as…” the doctor flipped up a sheet of paper on his clipboard, squinting slightly as he read off the page. “Having a father and son-like relationship.” Peter opened his mouth to argue, before closing it again as he silently remembered, _oh wait… I really do see my mentor as the only father-figure in my life_.

 

“You have no right to go around experimenting on people based on however you decide to define their relationship,” Tony growled angrily. Peter shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking down at his lap as his cheeks reddened.

 

_Oh god, Tony knew that he saw him as a father-figure. This is what he never wanted to happen – Tony was going to be so uncomfortable now._

 

“We can do what we like,” the man said simply, one of them wiping a cotton ball soaked in disinfectant over the back of Peter’s neck, making him shiver violently. “Who are we doing first?” The doctor asked.

 

“Stark. By the time he gets to the boy, he would have let go of all the emotional walls.” Tony gaped, because _how the hell could these people read him so well?_ The men didn’t seem to think twice about how they had practically just psychoanalysed Tony perfectly.

 

“Alright, I’ll do the connecter padding now then I guess.” Tony jolted when he felt his chair being pushed forward, but relaxed when he realised, he was only being moved closer to Peter so a length of wire with two sticking pads at either end could connect between their two pulse points.

 

“Is this about to turn into a really crappy torture scene?” Peter asked to hide the nervousness in his voice as the sticking pad was plastered over his neck.

 

“If you’re referring to the wire, then no. This just links your memories, so you can appear in the same simulation.” Tony fidgeted in his seat, trying to twist out and away from the doctor who had stepped up behind him and placed a hand on his head to keep him still as the needle was raised.

 

“Wait! Wait – _don’t!_ ” Peter yelled, renewing his efforts to struggle against his restraints. Regardless, the needle sunk into Tony’s neck and he grunted uncomfortably, slumping slightly as his eyes rolled back. “What did you do? _What did you do?!_ ” Peter screamed, fighting against the bonds.

 

“Calm down,” the same man said, wiping off the needle before dropping it in a tray and picking up a second, with the same clear serum inside. “It’ll just be a small pinch, and then you can join your mentor in the simulation.

 

“No! Get the hell away from me!” Peter shrieked, thrashing around enough that a second man had to hold his head still enough for the doctor to slip the needle in. “Mr. Stark!” He cried as he noticed the heavy feeling sinking through his entire body.

 

He plunged into a world of nothing, feeling like his mind was pulling him backwards and swallowing him whole.

 

\----

 

“Peter!”

 

Peter felt arms gripping his shoulders and he snapped open his eyes, jerking backward in fright before blinking and noticing Tony’s form swimming before him.

 

“Mr. Stark?” He asked timidly, shivering and clutching his arms suddenly as he noticed the cold. “Wh – why’s it so freezing… why are you in a tank top?” Tony looked down at himself, looking surprised.

 

“I… I don’t know?” He said quietly, looking around the dim space before paling considerably. “No…” he murmured softly, backing up and pulling Peter’s sleeve to guide him back as well.

 

“Mr. Stark? What’s happening?” He asked, mimicking how quiet Tony’s voice had dipped. He looked wearily around the space, noting the high, stone ceiling and cave-like walls. “Where are we?” Tony shook his head, closing his eyes and sucking in a few deep breaths before answered curtly.

 

“Nowhere. We’re nowhere. This isn’t real, Peter.” The teen quirked his head stiffly before frowning. Tony knew exactly what that face meant.

 

It meant the stubborn kid was about to start arguing.

 

“Nowhere, okay? We aren’t anywhere real! This is – it’s not _real_ , it’s fake!” Peter softened, looking up at him with a worry stained expression.

 

“Mr. Stark, I don’t thi –”

 

“I know, Peter! I know this isn’t real because we couldn’t be here – I can’t be here! It’s gone. I burnt it to the ground, okay? There isn’t any… There’s no way that this could be real!” Tony gripped his hair, tugging slightly as his breathing rate picked up. Peter reached out an arm, lightly touching Tony’s shoulder.

 

“Okay, I know it isn’t real… but just – just, can you tell me where you’re talking about?” He tried to move closer, squeezing his mentor’s shoulder and deliberately picking up his own breathing, so that Tony could mirror it.

 

“Afghanistan,” Tony muttered after a few minutes of quiet aside from both of their breaths. “ _Shit_ , I – I just… I can’t do this again,” he choked out miserably.

 

The two of them jumped when there was a clang from outside the metal door. “Get behind me,” Tony snapped, his voice steely and determined as he shoved Peter behind him. The teen could hear Tony murmuring to himself, his fists clenching and unclenching.

 

A cluster of men walked into the room, many were holding guns, multiple strapped to their chest. They weren’t American, they had thick accents when they spoke, their voices hostile.

 

“I’ll build it,” Tony interrupted. “I’ll build the Jericho.”

 

Peter stepped forward, opening his mouth to ask a flurry of questions. Tony pushed him backward again, before freezing. “What the hell…” he whispered, watching as the men in front of them began crumbling into grains of sand, their faces disintegrating, fingers and guns pooling into ponds of dirty beach dust.

 

Peter felt humid air ruffling his clothing, which tightened around his body, feeling vaguely familiar yet somehow a fuzzy memory. He looked down at himself, his Iron Spider suit gleaming in the red light of Titan. The men from Afghanistan had been blown away, mixing with the dirty grounds of the alien planet.

 

“Mr. Stark?” He asked, his voice shaking as it had done less then a year ago in this exact position.

 

“No, _fuck_ no. Not happening, we aren’t doing this!” Tony screamed, dropping to his knees, staining the same pants he had worn on ‘the day of the dusting,’ which is what everyone on Earth had called the snap. “Come here – come here, right now!” He yelled, grabbing Peter as soon as he was close enough.

 

_As long as he faced his fears and changed what he had wanted to, just like in Afghanistan, the fear would be over, and he could move on._

 

Tony tugged Peter into his lap, pushing his chin over his shoulder and leaning in so that Peter could hear him speaking over the dull roaring of blood in his ears as panic consumed them both. “I love you. You’re like a son to me – and I don’t want you to die. I want you to stay here, to stay in my life, to let me try and be a real parent, and not some asshole who got you killed because I didn’t beat Thanos the first time.”

 

Peter opened his mouth to gasp breathily, he had never known half of the things Tony had just forced off of his chest.

 

The parts of Peter’s body which had begun to crumble away into dust were reforming, the harder Tony held the kid against his chest, the less his deepest fears progressed.

 

He felt the metal of Peter’s suit flickering back to the clothes he had been wearing when they were kidnapped, and his own did too.

 

“What now? What’s happening now?” Peter asked hysterically, clutching Tony’s arm as soon as he felt his own fully reforming into _flesh and bone_ instead of _dust_. “I don’t wanna die again…” He said brokenly, huddling in next to Tony as the room thinned around them, stretching and morphing into a hallway, the red dusts of Titan blowing away into a door before them, slightly cracked open with dim, blue light spilling from within.

 

“You won’t, everything’s going to be fine, this fear isn’t about you.” Tony whispered, his body tensing sharply as he kicked the door open with his ankle, peering into the darkness and stiffening when he saw glimpses of what sat in front of the multiple desktop computer screens.

 

An empty bottle of whisky tipped on its side, a glass with only a few melting cubes of ice left inside of it, and Howard – sat in his desk chair with all his former glory.

 

An alcoholic, degrading, joke of a father.

 

“Dad.” Tony said evenly, watching the chair turning and hearing the disgusted sigh.

 

“I – is that your fa –”

 

“Peter, shh.” The teen beside him stood taller, his shoulders squaring as he stared at Howard Stark approaching his mentor and greatest hero.

 

“You don’t deserve the recognition you get for being a genius.” Tony looked down at the boy beside him. Peter was tiny in comparison to Howard, hell, he was scrawny and adorable, but he never in his life imagined seeing the precious kid staring someone down with his chest puffed out as he spat vicious words that cut like a knife. “Geniuses don’t treat people like they don’t matter. Revolutionary tech designers don’t shun their own children because they’re self-obsessed and would rather waste their lives on a company that means nothing because it was founded by people like _you_.”

 

Howard glared darkly.

 

“I dare you to try and say anything other than an apology to my mentor. _Try it,_ ” Peter spited venomously.

 

“I’m sorry,” Howard said without feeling. Tony looked up, his eyes empty as he spoke.

 

“I don’t care.”

 

\----

 

The two of them opened their eyes to a grey warehouse, the memory of Howard disintegrating was fresh in their minds.

 

“Thank you,” Tony said genuinely. Peter smiled warmly, waving off the apology as he surveyed their new space. “This feels different,” Tony murmured suspiciously, “I don’t feel a connection anymore.”

 

“I do,” Peter whispered, his eyes wide. Tony turned to see the look of horror and realisation on the teen’s face. “Go, go – _go!_ ” Peter yelled, practically dragging Tony behind him as he ran. “It wasn’t going for me – never for me. I was cocky and stupid and _god_ I should have realised what was happening.”

 

Tony didn’t know why they were running, or why he could hear something insanely loud behind him, but he trusted Peter – he knew it was instinctual reactions, but if whatever was happening behind them, had happened to Peter before… he must have a good reason for running.

 

Peter gripped his wrists and threw both of them outside, their bodies hitting the concrete and rolling as the noise became muffled and then silent once more. Peter was panting raggedly, more from panic than the impromptu sprint, but still heaving, nonetheless.

 

“I told you about Afghanistan, you tell me why I just had to run in designer pants.” Tony complained, pulling a light laugh from Peter and feeling more optimistic about how the poor kid was going to cope with his darkest fears and memories.

 

“Homecoming, he – the vulture… he dropped the building on me. I thought I was going to die down there.” Peter mumbled, turning and helping Tony to his feet as the collapsed pile of rubble sifted away as dust.

 

“ _What?!_ ” Tony demanded, trying to get a glance of the building’s crumpled structure before it completely washed away into the next scene.

 

“It’s nothing, I was fine. Broken ribs only take up to a week to heal,” he shrugged, turning around in a circle and watching the open night sky fading away into his bedroom ceiling.

 

“Why are we here?” Tony asked, walking around Peter to the side of his room where there was bookcase, younger Peter’s plastic Iron Man mask rested carefully against the books. “That’s cute,” he teased, turning around and expecting to see Peter rolling his eyes or blushing as he remembered the toy mask.

 

Instead Tony turned to see Peter with wide, terrified eyes brimming with tears.

 

“It’s two thousand and ten,” he whispered softly, his voice almost inaudible. “I _know_ it’s two thousand and ten, because May and Ben only got that for me on _Christmas_ of two thousand and nine, as well as tickets to the Stark Expo.” Peter’s hands were trembling, and Tony left the mask to move around the room and grip them in his own. “What day is it? Please, I – I just need to know wh – what day it is!”

 

“Peter, hey, breathe. It’s a Friday, your laptop says it’s Friday, alright? You’re okay.” Peter stepped backward, his back hitting the wall, hands held out to ward everything back from him as he teetered on the edge of a panic attack.

 

“C – close… close th – the door. Close it, _please_.” He panted, watching as Tony rushed to oblige. “He’s coming, oh god, no, no, no. I can’t – I _can’t_.” Tony reached out and grabbed Peter’s hands, pulling him into his chest. “D – don’t let him, don’t l – let him, please – please, Mr. Stark, I – can’t… can’t breathe.”

 

Tony put a hand over Peter’s chest, closing his eyes and pulling the boy’s two fingers up to his pulse point.

 

“Breathe,” he whispered. “Take a breath. Not real, I won’t let anything touch you. You just need to face your fear and do what you did with Howard. You’re okay, I’m right here and nothing’s going to happen.” There was a bang as the front door from outside blew shut, footsteps walking from the entry to the kitchen and then down the hall to Peter’s room.

 

“No…” Peter pronounced inaudibly, his voice a whisper even to the wind. He choked on a small sob when the doorknob twisted. “Go away,” he called meekly.

 

The teen who walked inside didn’t listen, not acknowledging Peter’s call at all. He was tall, a light green shirt clashed with his hair so bleached blonde it was practically pure white. He had a crease between his eyebrows which made him look more sinister and judging by the way Tony could feel Peter clawing his way behind him, it wasn’t an inaccurate depiction of the older boy.

 

“Hey, Einstein.”

 

“Get out,” Peter pressed, his fingers curling up in the fabric of Tony’s shirt. “Go away, Ben will be home any minute.”

 

“No, he won’t, that’s why I’m babysitting tonight.”

 

“I don’t want you to! I’m old enough to take care of myself! I don’t want to do experiments, or play pool, or be babysat! I want you to _GET OUT!_ ”

 

Tony turned around as soon as the person began crumpling to sand, spinning in the opposite direction, he hugged Peter to his chest.

 

“You did it. He’s gone, nothing’s gonna hurt you, no more. No more kiddie.”

 

\----

 

Peter and Tony were ripped out of their simulation when Rhodey severed the connection, leaving them both still in the same chairs they had passed out in.

 

“It wasn’t real…” Tony breathed out. He turned to Peter, smiling proudly. “We turned our fears to sand…” Peter returned his grin, wiping at his eyes as Rhodey undid his last restraint.

 

“Yeah… we overcame them all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> I also found THE COOLEST graffiti I've ever seen (and yes that means it's spider-man related) and I have a picture of it up on my Instagram (yes I am totally wearing a midtown school of science shirt in it)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	20. Time Travel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is sent back to forge a stronger relationship with Peter, because without a certain level of grief for Peter's death, Tony wouldn't be strong enough to bring back the dusted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, imagine this all takes place in a universe where Doctor Strange didn't dust :/
> 
> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

“You want me to do _what?_ ” Tony pressed, staring at Strange with conviction in his eyes.

 

“I want you to go back in time to the day you told the kid he could be an Avenger and offer him regular lab sessions and training instead.” Tony looked at him incredulously.

 

“Why?” He said firmly, thinking hard about what that could change between the day after the homecoming fiasco, and now – two months after the snap.

 

“Because,” Strange sighed unhappily, hating to explain for the fifteenth time. “I can see infinite possibilities, and without those lab sessions, your bond with the boy isn’t strong enough to compel you into killing Thanos. Trust me.”

 

“So… I don’t have enough grief for him in this timeline? And if I build more of a relationship with him…”

 

“Then the pain of losing him will give you the motivation you need to bring him, and everyone else, back for good.” Tony blinked confusedly, running a hand through his hair and dropping his head to the table top.

 

“But I’d get to see him,” Tony murmured quietly. “He’d be alive, but he wouldn’t have any memory of dying…” Strange nodded, a slightly sympathetic expression on his normally focused face. “I’ll do it, I just want to see him again.” Strange’s face pinched.

 

“In the timeline you’ll be creating by changing those events… your relationship progresses, and I need you to remember that everything he tells you is going to end up making you closer.” Tony nodded thoughtfully. “Don’t shut him out, or you won’t be able to save him when it really matters.”

 

“You’re saying if I don’t let myself care about him, I won’t have the motivation to save the dusted?”

 

“Exactly.” Tony was glad they weren’t in the main strategy room filled with everyone else, he didn’t need the extra pressure of the rest of the team knowing that the fate of the dusted rested on his ability to let down his emotional walls and let Peter in.

 

“Okay, I’ll do it. Send me back,” he clenched his fists. “I want to go back now,” he announced, watching the way Strange began moving his hands in odd gestures, orange and red sparks flying as the world around him began rapidly flickering with what must have been the days passing. The lighting changes sped up until it felt like he was staring in a strobe light. Tony squeezed his eyes shut, forcing away the dizziness.

 

He opened his eyes when he felt the world around him stilling. He opened his eyes.

 

He was stood in his lab; a loud ringing noise filled his head.

 

“F.R.I? Turn that off.” He said distractedly, running his fingers under the rims of his glasses.

 

“Unfortunately, I need you to confirm you have acknowledged this alarm before I can allow you to ignore it.” Tony frowned at the ceiling, pulling up his screen and reading the red lettering.

 

_Congratulate Underoos on not screwing the pooch again._

 

“Oh… _oh shit,_ F.R.I.D.A.Y, is Peter coming to the compound right now?” He ran to his desk chair, hurriedly pulling on the same blue suit jacket he had worn that day. “Uh, uh… what the hell was I wearing… ughhh – purple tie,” he muttered, tying the tie on as quickly and exactly as he could. He hadn’t been in a rush that day, he had been clean and presentable.

 

Tony didn’t know much about messing with time, but he figured the generalise rule was to change as little as possible.

 

“Yes, Mr. Hogan is pulling up now.” Tony snapped his head up, staring at the camera feed his A.I had brought up.

 

“Oh… glasses, I was wearing yellow tinted glasses!” He cried, rifling through his desktop cluttered with random projects until he managed to find them and slip them on. “Okay, let’s go,” he said under his breath, smoothing his mussed hair back and exiting the lab, trying to remember what Happy had said seconds before he made his entrance.

 

He walked out, pushing two hands into his pockets casually, sauntering in and sighing when he realised, he hadn’t been noticed. “Oh, there they are,” he called, forcing himself to notice instead of ignoring as his heart leapt into his throat upon seeing the teen he had cradled in his arms as he turned to dust.

 

Peter turned as soon as Tony spoke, his eyes going wide with the familiar celebrity adoration. Tony was so stunned to see how much younger he looked, a slightly oversized green jacket over a nerdy science pun shirt, his curls pushed back from his face, hiding how wild they were naturally.

 

He was so flabbergasted by the sight of the kid, that he momentarily forgot to speak. “How was the ride up?”

 

“Good,” Happy answered, and _god_ as much as he appreciated his head of security, all he wanted was the one-on-one chat with Peter – who had been _dead_ for the past two months.

 

“Give me a minute with the kid,” he said, turning to look at Peter before turning away and kicking himself internally.

 

“Seriously?” Happy asked.

 

“Yeah,” he said, looking back at his bodyguard and wondering how someone could imagine that small kid a threat. “I gotta talk to the kid,” he pressed. Happy looked at him for a moment, just like how Tony remembered him.

 

“I’ll be close behind.” Tony smirked, shaking his head fondly.

 

“How about a loose follow, alright? Boundaries are good.” Happy rolled his eyes as Tony stepped up to Peter’s side. Tony _knew_ that the first thing he had done was punch the kid’s shoulder playfully, but all he wanted to do in the moment was pull the boy into his chest and hold him tightly.

 

_God, he was alive…_

 

He nudged Peter in the arm lightly, probably moving a bit too fast as he pulled him into his side, wrapping an arm loosely around his back, squeezing his upper arm reassuringly. “I’m sorry I took your suit,” he apologised stiffly, wishing he could just spin Peter around and tell him he was sorry for _letting him crumble to dust in his arms._

 

But he had to follow the script, had to say what he already chose to say back when he had no idea the teenager would be clawing at his back and begging to be saved.

 

“You had it coming,” he held back a wince, “actually, turns out it was the perfect tough-love moment you needed. To urge you on, right? Wouldn’t you think?”

 

“I guess,” Peter said. His voice was small, so much younger that Tony remembered. The kid was almost seventeen the last time he had heard him speak, and that was over two months ago. He sounded so timid and unsure, as if he hadn’t gained the confidence of knowing he was a real hero yet.

 

“Let’s just say it was,” Tony said, quieter than before. He sighed as they walked, he could feel the tense anxiety radiating out from Peter and his stiff shoulders. He knew the kid was about to apologise, he could feel it.

 

“Mr. Stark, I really –”

 

“You screwed the pooch hard, bigtime.” He interrupted. “But then you did the right thing,” he continued simply. “Took the dog to the free clinic, you raised the hybrid puppies, alright, not my best analogy,” he admitted. He readjusted his grip on Peter’s arm, lifting it up to the junction of his shoulder and neck. His other hand shifted to the boy’s other arm. 

 

Peter looked up at him, a small smile on his face, wide brown eyes shining. “I was wrong about you,” Tony said, pushing more sincerity into those five words than he had the first time. He squeezed tighter when Peter’s smile grew. “I think, with a little more mentoring… you could be a real asset to the team.”

 

This was the moment he had to change, no Iron Spider suit, no inviting the kid to be an Avenger, just regular lab sessions each week.

 

“So, you’ve got yourself a real internship. Come over twice a week after school, stay the night on every second Friday. We’ll work on the suit, and your abilities, and some proper training. I want you to be able to defend yourself without the suit too, without having to blow the whole spider secret.” He patted both of Peter’s shoulders proudly, walking in front of him and slowing, so that they stood facing each other. “What do you say to that?”

 

“Uh, I – I – yeah, yes. A – are you kidding? Of course, I would love to do that,” Peter gushed, his cheeks red with the praise and excitement. “Thank you, seriously, that… I – that means a lot.” Tony looked at the teen before him, and nothing could stop his head from replaying the memories.

 

_“Save me, save me! I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go, Sir. Please… please, I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go. I’m sorry…”_

 

“It’s nothing, I need the friendly neighbourhood hero to be on his game,” he said genuinely.

 

“Oh – oh. Thank you really, Mr. Stark.” Peter’s hazel eyes were wide with excitement, his hands were wringing together, and Tony felt a swell of happiness when he realised that compared to his first offer of becoming an Avenger, Peter looked about ten times as happy as he had then. It was almost as if the offer of multiple lab sessions with Tony was something, he would want more than becoming an Avenger.

 

“So, we’ll start next Tuesday then. That sound alright by you?” Peter gaped a moment longer before snapping his mouth shut and nodding eagerly, a deer-in-headlights sort of look in his eyes. “Great, and uh… another thing too,” he took a somewhat steadying breath.

 

_“And if you died, I feel like that’s on me.”_

_“I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry.”_

_“You’re alright.”_

 

“What I said, on the rooftop after the ferry…” Tony noticed Peter’s body stiffening slightly, out of fear or discomfort, he didn’t want to know. “About you dying, and the onus being left on me? That’s not true, I didn’t really mean what I said.”

 

Peter blinked, looking taken aback. Tony didn’t want to bear the truth that Peter had used his last breath to apologise for dying. He hated himself for not thinking what he said through, on the rooftop during their argument. Of course, Peter would have apologised, because he thought that Tony would carry the weight of his death.

 

_Well he had… but the kid didn’t need to know that._

 

“Oh, um… o – okay then. Sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean what I said either, about none of it happening if you had listened, that was… I was just upset.” Tony smiled, hiding the sadness in his eyes.

 

“It’s okay, kid.”

 

\---- The First Lab Session ----

 

Tony laid awake in bed for eight hours on Tuesday morning. He didn’t see the point in doing work he had already done, or eating the same food he had already tried, or creating the same project he had already designed. He just waited for Peter.

 

When the clock hit four thirty-two, he dragged himself off the mattress, trudged into the kitchen and absentmindedly pawed through the cupboards before finding something vaguely satisfactory to eat before showering and pulling on workshop clothing, keeping everything loose and casual as he normally did in the lab.

 

When Peter showed up, he looked nervous. His hair looked uncooperative, and his hands were anxiously fisting and unfisting in his jacket.

 

“Hey kid,” Tony greeted as F.R.I.D.A.Y automatically buzzed Peter in.

 

“H – hey… hi, Mr. Stark,” Peter chirped hovering awkwardly before Tony pushed a lab chair out.

 

“So, what’re you working on today?” Peter looked at him blankly. “You have anything specific you wanted to get done, or something you wanna learn, or try?”

 

“Oh, um… I – I guess I could work on a new web fluid design? If that’s okay…” Tony nodded, waving his hand around the lab blindly.

 

“Yeah, totally cool. Give me a yell if you need help, all the chemicals and equipment will be over that side, if you’re bored or hungry, literally anything, just let me know. You cool?” Peter looked around the room, his lips curling up as he took in all the equipment and possibilities.

 

“Yeah… yeah, I’m amazing,” Peter breathed out, turning back to face Tony with a wider smile. “Thank you,” he said. Tony smiled back, tapping a pen on the desk and fiddling with his own meaningless project.

 

It didn’t feel like enough. Sitting in the same room as Peter and working on different things didn’t feel as though it would deepen their relationship.

 

“You wanna show me how you get that tensile strength in the webs?” He asked, watching as he went around the room, plucking different equipment and chemicals from the different stations which were set up.

 

“You’d like to learn?” He asked excitedly, rushing back over to the lab bench and unpacking everything he had brought. “Okay so,” Peter began happily, beginning to scribble random equations and formulas across a blank refill book, seeming all the more relaxed each time Tony nodded thoughtfully, or complimented him on the genius it must have taken to create the web fluid all on his own, using only school supplies.

 

The two of them worked until eight, and then Tony found himself almost disappointed when Peter had to go back to his apartment. “See you on Thursday?” Peter asked hopefully.

 

“Yep, sure thing kiddo. See you then.” Tony smiled contentedly as he watched the boy being driven off, amazed at how only two months ago, he had held him in his arms, and now he was here.

 

\---- First Movie Night ----

 

It had been a month since Peter and Tony’s first lab session, and it was the second Friday of the month, which meant Peter was staying the night in the room Tony had set up for him. They had been working on a project since five, and it was almost eleven at night.

 

“Pete,” Tony said as he swung around in his chair. “You wanna try something else tonight? We’ve got to take a break, or I’ll be accused of child labour.” Peter laughed before nodding his head and looking to his mentor expectantly.

 

“What did you have in mind?” He asked, his head tilting and curls trickling from the side of his head.

 

“Movie? I can order pizza?” Peter looked at him curiously, judging whether he was serious.

 

“Yeah, that actually sounds… really great.” Tony snorted, rolling his eyes as he got F.R.I to order them the usual pizza.

 

The order didn’t take long to arrive, and Tony had set up the couches so that Peter was on the two-seater beside him. The kid had a blanket draped over his shoulders, his eyes blinking lethargically as the combined effects of the pizza, comfort, and movie droning on in the background, slowly took effect.

 

“Why’re you so tired? When did you go to bed last night?” Tony asked, poking Peter’s arm and laughing as he groaned overdramatically.

 

“I slept normally, m’ just goin’ through the wint’r hibernation period.” Tony looked up, fully turning to face the boy.

 

“The what? Oh my god, do you mean… no way.” Peter nodded his head lazily, groaning once more as he slumped back on the couch, slowly slipping downward as his body refused to move his muscles. “You hibernate like a spider,” Tony laughed, patting Peter on the head jokingly. “You’re like a little pet tarantula.”

 

“ _Prrrup…_ ”

 

Tony jerked his hand away from Peter’s head, eliciting an annoyed little moan.

 

He gingerly lifted his hand back up before timidly placing it back on top of Peter’s head, staying still for a moment until he was sure there was silence, and then gently moving each of his fingers in a small, circular motion.

 

“ _Prrrrrrup… Prrrrrrup…_ ” Tony opened his jaw widely, staring in shock as he continued to swirl his fingers more eagerly through Peter’s soft curls. The purring continued.

 

“Oh my god… you’re _purring._ ” He cooed, pulling the teen closer against his side and scratching his scalp, relishing in the happy noises he was able to pull from Peter. “This is adorable,” he murmured out loud, now certain Peter was asleep.”

 

\---- First ‘Slip-Up’ ----

 

“Hey, can you hand me those bolts please, kid?” Tony blindly held his palm out, balancing the screwdriver back in his mouth as he heard Peter rummaging around through the assorted toolbox.

 

“There you go,” Peter said as he dropped the few bolts into Tony’s outstretched palm. He watched him tightening them and fiddled with his web shooters. After Tony had finished up, after a few minutes, he glanced down to his watch.

 

“Oh, look at the time. You better head, Pete.” The teen looked up, slipping his web shooters back on and grabbing his bag.

 

“Oh, crap, yeah. I gotta go before May worries.” Tony saluted him as he packed up all of his things, slipping Tony the few pages of notes he had taken on nanobots. “Thanks, see you on Friday, Dad.” Peter jogged to the door, freezing as his hand touched the handle. “Uhm… I – I…”

 

Tony could see his ears and neck going red from behind, he took the chance where Peter wasn’t looking to smile at the floor fondly. He looked up when Peter slowly turned, his face bright red and eyes looking almost as nervous as they had on their first lab session together.

 

“Mr. Stark… I mean – I meant Mr. Stark. S – sorry, yeah… sorry.” He muttered, screwing his eyes shut and probably kicking himself inside.

 

Tony stood, crossed the room and ruffled Peter’s hair.

 

“No problem, son. We should play catch, then I’ll let you try beer for the first time, and maybe after than I can give you the talk and teach you how to shave.” He stared seriously at Peter for a moment before the boy gave a hesitant laugh.

 

“Heh… a haha… um…”

 

“Relax, calm down, kid. I called you Dum-E last week, it’s the same thing.” Peter stared at him accusingly, a mock look of offense on his face.

 

Peter was witty and snarky, so it was no surprise when Tony saw the glint of mischief in his eyes. It was also unsurprising that Peter managed to leave him red faced and confused as he bolted out the lab doors.

 

“Yeah, well… I’m not actually Dum-E, so it’s different. What you called me was wrong, whereas… I wasn’t.” Peter turned on his heel and ran, laughing as he left Tony in the middle of the lab, wondering whether or not he just imagined that Peter had just implied he wasn’t incorrect when he accidentally called Tony ‘Dad.’

 

\---- Titan (The Second Time Around) ----

 

Tony almost threw up as the last of Peter’s ashes filtered through his fingertips and blew away in the winds of an alien planet.

 

Everything he had worked for… the only reason he had been sent back well over a year ago, every tiny change he made…

 

And it was all for nothing, because not a single thing changed.

 

Peter was still dead. Tony had still lost. And the only difference was the newer, fresher, more vivid and soul-crushing grief that was filling him like poison.

 

It hadn’t hurt this much the first time Peter dusted… why did he feel like he couldn’t breathe this time around?

 

Why was the simple fact that Peter hadn’t called for ‘Mr. Stark,’ and instead cried for ‘Dad,’ to save him, hurt so much more than the first time?

 

Had Strange meant that he would have to win after the dusting? Did he mean there was a second battle, one that they would win as long as Tony had the bubbling seed of wrath and revenge in the pit of his chest, sparked by his newly found son’s death?

 

Of course, that’s what Strange had meant.

 

It wasn’t simple, but in a lot of ways it was – because Tony only needed one thing now.

 

To bring his child home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> I also found THE COOLEST graffiti I've ever seen (and yes that means it's spider-man related) and I have a picture of it up on my Instagram (yes I am totally wearing a midtown school of science shirt in it)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	21. Insomnia (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets a letter explaining that the woman he had gotten pregnant was deciding to raise the child on her own, leaving him with no trace to follow.
> 
> Seven years later, when Peter is diagnosed with liver cancer, his mother abandoned him because she had no way of paying for his treatment.
> 
> It's not long after that Tony is contacted by make a wish, explaining that there was a boy who specifically wanted to meet his hero, Tony Stark, the man his mother always spoke highly of, as opposed to the usual children who want to meet Iron Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SWEAR THE CANCER DOESN'T KILL PETER! DON'T WORRY!
> 
> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

_And I’m sorry, I don’t want to do this to you – I don’t – but I can’t raise a child with a playboy, I want to do this on my own._

_I’m sorry, Tony._

 

He stared at the entirety of the message, rubbing his forehead and pushing his hair back frustratedly. He had finally done it. The years of careless nights had caught up to him.

 

He was a father.

 

Or, according to the message, he wasn’t. 

 

Because he was Tony Stark, the ‘playboy,’ the party goer, the heir to Stark Industries.

 

And apparently the worst possible option for raising a baby.

 

The thing was, Tony couldn’t even remember who the last twenty people he had slept with were. So, when it came to seeking out this woman, and his unborn child, he had no beginning to work with, other than the typed letter with no return address.

 

He tried though, he went back to every event, press conference, bar and club that he remembered leaving with a woman on his arm, and he tracked down each guest list, tracing through the names and seeing which of them gave him something more to work with.

 

It only took four months until he had exhausted every option he could have possibly had.

 

And then he gave up.

 

The stress of knowing that sometime within the next five months, there would be a child with his DNA wandering around and growing up. It surprised him how much he wanted to be a part of that kid’s life, despite how much Howard was fuming over the fact that he had almost ‘thrown away his future.’

 

“ _You’re just lucky the girl didn’t try to force the kid off on you to take care of._ ” He had said after finding the letter.

 

Tony had been stupid to imagine Howard would ever help him track down his kid. 

 

And now he was dead, so it didn’t matter anyway. Howard wouldn’t have helped even if he were still alive.

 

Rhodey tried, but there was literally no evidence to start from.

 

Around the nine-month anniversary of when the letter had come in the mail, Tony began keeping track of hospitals and all the babies that were born. He kept the lists and lists of names, dates and locations, getting Jarvis to track each security cam of the woman being wheeled into the delivery room, giving Tony short segments to see whether he would recognise anything.

 

Nothing came up, and once again, any lingering hope of finding a child was lost again. This time for good.

 

Tony grew up, he finished university with Rhodey, then began running Stark Industries along with Obadiah’s support, rather than what he had been doing before, letting him run it.

 

He didn’t party, the ‘playboy’ persona was lost, and he stuck to the usual press conferences.

 

Tony didn’t know that in one of the apartment blocks which Happy regularly drove them past, was his son, and the woman who decided she wanted to raise him alone.

 

\----

 

For the first sixteen weeks of Peter’s mother’s pregnancy, she made as much money as she could in preparation. The only job she could get on short notice, after dropping out of university, was at a strip club.

 

From there, she became addicted to cocaine, and consequently couldn’t afford any of the recommended check-ups on her pregnancy’s progress.

 

\---- 10th of August, 2001 ----

 

The lack of care on top of the cocaine addiction, resulted in Peter being born almost three months early.

 

He spent several weeks in the NICU, and majority of that time was spent with his mother at the gym, rushing to work off the extra weight, so she could go back to work.

 

She didn’t breastfeed, she wanted to get rid of every inch of residing fat from the pregnancy, and she did the absolute bare minimum. Keeping Peter alive, but not bothering with the extra affection. She scolded him for every diaper she had to change, ignored him if he didn’t stop crying even after being changed, fed and well-rested in the cheap cot she had gotten second-hand.

 

The strip club was beginning to go under, and soon enough, around the age of five – where school costs were just beginning – Peter noticed more and more men coming and going from his mother’s room, all with thick wads of cash in their hands and none when they left.

 

Most of the men ignored him, walking straight past where he was usually curled up at the table with a book, or sleeping on the couch as normal.

 

On the odd occasion, some of the men would try to make conversation, but Peter struggled around strangers, he went almost non-verbal, only answering direct questions which required more than a nod or shake of his head.

 

One day, when Peter had just turned six, one of the men interacted with him in another way.

 

As he was leaving, he walked up to the table, smiling confidently as he looked down at the scrawny child with an overgrown nest of curls.

 

“I want to thank you, kid. You’re the reason I get to enjoy that,” the man pointed to where Peter’s mother stood in the doorway to her room with a bath robe on, watching them. “Thanks, chap!” He rested a hand on Peter’s shoulder before bringing it up and patting his cheek roughly, bordering on a slap.

 

“O – ow…” Peter whispered softly, watching the man winking at his mother before walking out the front door. “W – why did he do that?” He asked tentatively as his mother walked to the door and locked it for the night.

 

“I don’t know, but he wasn’t wrong.” She said, putting a bag of peas on the table top beside Peter’s elbow. “The only reason I have to… _entertain_ all these people is so I can cheap out on your schooling fees instead of paying stupid truancy fines.” She sighed wearily before pointing to the couch, and then the clock on the microwave. “At eight thirty, you need to go to bed.”

 

“Can I sleep with you?” Peter pleaded, looking over to the stiff couch and already knowing nothing was going to change, he had only ever slept in his mother’s bed when she had a ‘house call’ for the night, and came back early the next morning.

 

“No, you’re six now. I have another overnight house call next week, you can sleep in it then, as long as you change the sheets.” Peter nodded understandingly, it wasn’t his mother’s fault he spoke in his sleep.

 

\----

 

When Peter was six and two months, there was another incident.

 

This time it was before school, and he was sitting on the table, eating cheaply branded cereal and reading a high school physics textbook, his elementary ones were too simple for him.

 

A man came out of his mother’s room, he put an empty bottle of something spelt ‘tequila’ and smiled when he saw her walking out into the kitchen, taking the cigarette from his lips and pulling a long drag of it.

 

“Peter, do you have your inhaler?” She asked without turning around to face him.

 

“Mm, s’ in my schoolbag,” he answered quietly, looking away when the man with his mother turned to eye him curiously.

 

“Ah, who’s this?” He asked, moving towards Peter.

 

“A kid I look after,” she said disinterestedly, her words slurring slightly, which was not an uncommon occurrence.

 

“Hm, I’m guessing he’s a bit cheaper than you, hon?” The man laughed as his knuckle brushed over Peter’s cheek before he turned back to the boy’s mother and smiled humorously.

 

“How much would you offer?” She asked, laughing giddily.

 

“Three hundred, at the most,” the man answered, walking back for the front door.

 

“Nah, not worth it,” Peter’s mother waved her arm dismissively, ignoring the sound of Peter coughing slightly and trying to waft away the smell of cigarette smoke as she walked the man to the hall. 

 

Peter looked up at his mother when she closed the door and turned to face him. “Never had a client ask about you like that, she mumbled, discarding the bottle and rubbing her face worriedly as she counted out the money the man had left behind. “Damnit, asshole didn’t tip.” She sighed heavily, prying open two letters before hitting the benchtop loudly.

 

“A – are you okay?” Peter asked, standing up and cleaning his bowl like he was taught before wandering over to where his mother was stood, angrily staring at the letters.

 

“No – no I’m not okay. We either miss out on water, or electricity for the next month,” she snapped.

 

“Why?” Peter mumbled curiously, trying to read the figures on the page.

 

“Because! I just can’t afford _you_ , the water _and_ the electricity!” Peter took a few steps backward, feeling a surge of guilt at what he had just heard.

 

He pulled his bag on, apologised hurriedly and ran out the door before his tears began to fall.

 

\----

 

Peter’s mother made do for another few months, occasionally Peter had to shower at the school, using the showers in the locker room, and sometimes they went without electricity, but they were living.

 

At one point, Peter collapsed in gym class. When his mother got the call, she assumed he hadn’t eaten enough before school, or didn’t manage to find someone who would lend him food.

 

But then he was diagnosed with stage two liver cancer instead, and she had no idea what to do…

 

\----

 

“Okay, and you remember where to go?” Peter nodded silently, his cheeks still wet. “What don’t you do, under any circumstance?” His mother tested.

 

“Tell them who my mum is…” Peter answered. His mother smiled and patted his back, walking him out the hall and watching him take the elevator down.

 

He was gone, she had no responsibilities. Everything was going to be fine.

 

_For her at least._

 

\----

 

Peter walked four blocks on that Sunday morning. He passed through the automatic doors in the hospital and headed straight to the front desk, his eyes still shining with tears and his heart empty at the realisation that he wouldn’t get to see his mother again.

 

“Hi sweetie, are you alright?” The receptionist asked kindly. Peter shook his head brokenly and quietly handed her the printed letter his mother had prepared, standing on his tiptoes to reach the desk.

 

_To whom it may concern,_

_I know that this makes me a horrible person, but I have no other choice. I have absolutely no money, I cannot afford my son’s treatment, (he was recently diagnosed with stage two liver cancer) and I have no other choice but to leave him in the hospital’s capable hands._

_I’m sorry, and I wish him good luck, but I cannot be a parent anymore._

 

The receptionist gaped, her face white.

 

“I need some supervision at reception, we’ve got an issue with a new drop-off.” The receptionist still managed a meek smile for Peter, but when she spoke into the main speaker, she looked sympathetic and terrified for the small boy’s fate.

 

\---- Two Months Later ----

 

Tony had issues sleeping on the best of nights. He had tried everything, and his biggest issue wasn’t getting to sleep, it was falling to sleep.

 

There was only one thing he had ever found which seemed to work for him.

 

Make a wish foundation.

 

He got about four or five every few months, always feeling a surge of emotion when children used their single wish on Iron Man.

 

After the day he would spend with the child, who was often in a wheelchair, or confined to a hospital bed, or carrying around an oxygen tank, he always slept the best. Something about making a helpless kid feel happier than they had since their diagnosis helped Tony to feel something more powerful than the PTSD or nightmares.

 

He felt important, and he felt like he had made a difference.

 

He never thought that his next make a wish child would change his life so drastically.

 

\----

 

Peter had just passed his seventh birthday when his cancer progressed into stage three, and he wanted to use his wish before it was too late.

 

He was a smart enough child to know that grasping the concept about the inevitability of death was something even most adults hadn’t managed to do, and yet he was still more focused on shyly asking to meet his hero, the person who his mother had spoken about so much, the man who he looked up to since he heard his mother saying his name.

 

Tony Stark.

 

The organisers assumed he had wanted Iron Man, but Peter begged them to make sure he could see Tony Stark, not the suit instead.

 

He just wanted to see the one man his mother had ever spoken of with nothing but love in her voice.

 

\----

 

Tony was shocked when he was told that there was a child who asked specifically for _him_ , and not Iron Man. But he supposed there was nothing wrong with a child wanting to meet the man behind Iron Man, so he drove down to one of the hospitals in the downtrodden area of Queens.

 

He was given a clipped version of the boy’s story, and it made his heart melt with sympathy.

 

Born premature, diagnosed with asthma at age three, social anxiety at age five, and stage three lung cancer at age seven, only to be abandoned by his broke mother.

 

The doctors explained that Peter’s cancer had progressed faster than usual because he had no legal guardian to pay the treatment bills. They did everything they could, but there wasn’t much to keep the cancer from growing and spreading without the much heftier priced treatment options.

 

Tony swallowed thickly, feeling as though he was reading a cancer novel.

 

He knocked softly on the doorframe of the boy’s room. He peeked his head in and saw a tiny, underweight child with untamed curls curled up in a bed, a pile of advanced medical textbooks sitting beside him.

 

“Hi Peter,” he began, “I’m Tony. I came to see you, courtesy of make a wish.” The child looked up, his wide, hazel eyes sparkling in the light. He had been crying recently, and Tony could tell. His bright irises swivelled to look at him, staring up at him with amazement and shutting his book.

 

“M – Mr. Stark… y – you really came? You’re here?” Tony laughed softly, seating himself on the side of the bed.

 

“In the flesh kiddo… how are you doing? I got the rundown, I think you’ve got it rough.” He said sadly, watching the boy nervously fiddling with his fingers, no energy to move.

 

“Y – yeah…” he murmured softly. Tony felt a weight inside of his chest, the same one which told him clearly, he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all unless he relieved the guilt and sorrow he had for this poor child.

 

“This wouldn’t be part of your make a wish, but how do you feel about me paying for your treatment?” He blurted, not even bothering to re-think his statement as his mind screamed to save the boy who had no hope and deserved a fighting chance like every other cancer survivor.

 

“I – I… b – but it’s so expensive, sir… I couldn’t…” Tony waved his hand, smiling assuringly.

 

“I’m a billionaire, and if I don’t do this, I won’t ever be able to forgive myself for letting a boy with so much potential slip away.” He bit the inside of his cheek, wanting to reach out and clutch the child’s small hand, but resisting.

 

“O – okay… only if you w – want to, because you don’t need to…” Peter said. Tony was surprised at how articulate and well-informed a small seven-year-old kid could be. He grinned, finally reaching out and letting the child clutch his hand, excitement vivid on his small face, tears of gratitude shining in his eyes.

 

\----

 

“Mr. Stark… I am so, so sorry to say this, but a new law was recently passed, meaning only legal guardians may make the choice of a child undergoing the treatments you are offering to pay for…” Tony stared evenly at the man, the weight tugging harshly in his chest as he realised Peter was going to die without that treatment, and it would be _his fault_ for not finding a way to save him.

 

If that happened, Tony would never sleep again, although in the moment, that fact didn’t concern him in the slightest.

 

“Then I’ll adopt him.” He declared flatly, watching relief flood the few workers listening in.

 

Apparently, Peter had touched the hearts of a lot of others in the hospital.

 

\----

 

“Peter… are you okay coming back to the tower with me for a bit? I have a more resourceful Med Bay, and I would like to get you the treatment there. Yu can have your own bed and anything you ne –”

 

“A – are you… are you adopting me?” Peter asked.

 

“Yes,” Tony whispered, terrified of the boy declining and setting himself up for death, and sentencing Tony to a fate where he would never sleep.

 

The guilt would tear its way through him without the knowledge that he had saved a child so sweet and innocent.

 

“Yes, yes, yes!” Peter yelled, his voice strained and weak, yet filled with joy. “Mr. Stark, y – you’re saving my life, I – I can’t even begin to thank you for everything you’ve done for m –”

 

“Kid… just come home,” he whispered, helping Peter up from the bed, lifting him gently so he rested against his hip comfortably. He didn’t was the kid walking around when he was this fragile.

 

All he wanted was to curl up beside his new adopted son and sleep through the night, knowing that he _would_ save him.

 

Although it would be a hard battle to help an already damaged boy through stage three liver cancer…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~ Please give me a follow if you're interested <3
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	22. Regret (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of yesterday's story!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SWEAR THE CANCER DOESN'T KILL PETER! DON'T WORRY!
> 
> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

It had been two weeks since Peter had started treatment, and a month since he first moved into the tower with him.

 

Peter had gained a small amount of weight, mostly because Tony supplied him with the most food a kid could ask for. Peter loved iced animal crackers and milk. Tony also had the largest bathrooms, the best smelling shampoo and soap. Once all of the treatment started, Peter began losing all the weight again as his appetite decreased as a side effect of all the drugs.

 

They began with less invasive treatments, targeted therapy drugs, immunotherapy and embolization therapy. The expensive drugs slowed down the progression, and Tony was happy that Peter was able to live like a normal kid for the rest of that year, taking his drugs three times a day, being home-schooled by Tony in the lab and curling up for a movie night each evening with his new guardian.

 

Every morning he woke up in the softest bed and tangled in the fluffiest blankets he had ever experienced.

 

When he fell asleep from the constant and somewhat debilitating tiredness residing deep in him, Tony would rest the boy’s head in his lap, softly petting his curls and telling him he would feel better soon, and that the drugs were what made him so tired.

 

Peter grew to love, and respect Tony more than he ever thought he ever could. His guardian was soft and gentle, he never got upset with Peter over the same small things which his mother had used to, he was kind and seemed to genuinely love the time they spent in the lab together, progressing Peter’s science, mathematics, English and history skills.

 

Tony was the most patient, caring when he helped Peter develop his social skills, not getting upset with him when he struggled to speak more than a sentence with anyone other than Tony. Slowly, his confidence grew with every praise he was gifted, and eventually Peter was able to hold a conversation with Happy and Rhodey without shying away.

 

Tony loved the small boy who had grown into a kid he saw as his own.

 

On the bad days, when Peter struggled to get out of bed, or fell in the hallway and couldn’t pull himself back up, Tony almost regretted letting himself love the boy.

 

He knew that although the cancer’s progression had slowed, Peter was still sinking downhill, and it hurt to know that there was a fair probability that he wouldn’t make it to his tenth birthday, which was only two years away.

 

Tony couldn’t bring himself to regret anything yet, mostly because he would rather have gotten the chance to have loved such a sweet boy, than to have never loved him at all.

 

\----

 

Peter had gotten sick again, four months after his eighth birthday. He was curled up in his hospital bed, his head leant against Tony’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded and lazily sweeping around the room.

 

“I have a mission this weekend,” Tony admitted softly. “But I’m not going unless you’re feeling better.” Peter looked over to his guardian, blinking tiredly.

 

“Okay, I’ll feel better,” he mumbled, nudging his nose against Tony’s collarbone and finally letting the pull of the drugs take him under into sleep for the third time that day.

 

\----

 

Peter had promised Tony that he would call if he felt any worse, but Tony was the one who managed to break his wrist in two places during the mission.

 

He was sat in the Med Bay on the bed right beside Peter. The boy had laughed softly when he saw Tony rolling his eyes as the doctors pulled up his blood tests and checked the right amount of pain relief he would need.

 

“You’re type B, Mr. Stark, would you mind signing this for me?” The doctor on duty asked kindly, giving Tony his forms and checking on Peter’s temperature.

 

“How’s he doing?” Tony asked, ignoring his own arm which was being wrapped up, in favour of making sure his kid was okay.

 

“We’d like to discuss some more treatment options once you’re feeling better, his last scan came back, and we would like to try adjusting the way we’re approaching the cancer cells.

 

Tony hoped that Peter was going to make it through everything okay. He was so small and frail already, his life had only just improved, and now he was getting sick again. Tony would never regret meeting and adopting the boy, but he would be shattered if he lost him.

 

\----

 

The doctors wanted Peter to begin chemotherapy, and Tony couldn’t help but shut himself in the bathroom and dry his eyes before coming back out to Peter’s bed and holding his hand, squeezing tightly when the doctors took his blood for more tests.

 

“We’ll begin tomorrow, so this can be analysed overnight.” The doctor’s explained, closing the door softly and leaving the two alone with the T.V to watch.

 

“Star Wars?” Peter asked raggedly, his body run down and tired from all the drugs and tests.

 

“Course,” Tony managed, watching as his A.I. pulled up the last movie to pick up from. He curled an arm over Peter’s bony shoulders and rested his head in his lap, stroking through his curls for what he realised could be one of the last times.

 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked quietly. “I – is it normal to be afraid of dying?” Tony’s heart cracked slightly, knowing that Peter was smart enough to work out his probability of a full life.

 

“Yes, lots of people are. But you don’t need to be, because I’ll be here and I’m not letting you go anytime soon, okay?” Peter was silent for a moment before he nodded and rolled over, his cheek resting over Tony’s chest and arms reaching up to curl around his neck. “Night buddy,” Tony whispered, kissing the crown of his head softly.

 

\----

 

A week into chemotherapy, Peter winced when Tony tried to brush a comforting hand through his hair. His scalp was so tender that he could only handle the softest touches, luckily Tony was very able and willing to provide them if it meant his kid was content.

 

Two weeks in, Peter ran into Tony’s bedroom and burst into tears, opening his hand to reveal a small clump of chestnut curls that had fallen out and left a bald patch near the nape of his neck.

 

“M – my hair! I – I don’t wanna have b – bald patches!” Peter bawled, throwing himself into Tony’s arms as soon they opened up for him. “I – it makes everything seem so much more _real_.”

 

“I know buddy, I know.” Tony whispered, kissing Peter’s forehead and pulling the covers over the both of them, so that the edge of the sheets were tucked beneath the boy’s chin. “Why don’t you have a sleep in with me? We can go out for breakfast later, hm?” Peter sniffled miserably.

 

“I don’t wanna go outside like this,” he said softly, burying his face away into the pillow beside Tony’s.

 

“That’s okay, but I can get you a beanie. A nice fluffy one too.” Peter nodded stiffly and hiccupped on a sob before settling down to sleep. “You’re going to be okay, I promise,” Tony murmured, wrapping an arm around so he could hold Peter’s hand comfortingly.

 

\----

 

At the end of the next week, so much of Peter’s hair had fallen out that he finally relented to let Tony help him shave the rest of it off.

 

He stared in the bathroom mirror, looking at his pale, sunken and undernourished reflection. He was sat on a chair, Tony stood behind him with a shaver in one hand, and the other rested over Peter’s shoulder.

 

“You’re the bravest kid I know, buddy. I’m so proud of you. I’m not gonna let you go anywhere, anytime soon.” Tony rubbed one of his eyes, subtly pushing away the tears forming. “I can’t lose my best lab assistant, huh?” He pressed a final kiss against what was left of Peter’s once thick, wild, curls.

 

The shaver turned on and wiped away the last hope that Peter had for himself.

 

He never pictured himself as the small, paper white cancer children on the front of posters and donation boxes. Watching as his guardian shaved away the last of his hair, he couldn’t help but see himself as the exact same.

 

\----

 

“Mr. Stark, I don’t know if you’d like these on file or not, but here are the blood test results, just for reference.” Tony took the page the doctor offered as he rushed past, smiling gratefully.

 

He squinted absentmindedly at the results. He frowned when he noticed the slight irregularities in his test.

 

“Are these mine?” He called.

 

“No, they’re Peter’s, Sir.” The doctor answered before ducking into one of the operating rooms and disappearing out of sight.

 

Tony walked back to his own lab, still frowning in confusion. He pulled up his own blood tests from the previous mission when he had broken his wrist.

 

They were almost identical.

 

Peter’s DNA matched his perfectly.

 

Peter was his _real_ son.

 

\---- Two Months Later ----

 

“Bruce… Bruce, we did it…” Tony murmured unbelievably. “The trial worked… we just – we – we just created the cure for cancer!” He shook the vile of clear, blue tinted liquid and looked back at the test results.

 

_CLEAR._

 

The test said clear… that meant that there were no more tumours or cancer cells remaining.

 

Bruce’s excited rambling sounded almost like static through the phone, and Tony quickly excused himself from the call, promising to get in contact soon enough, after he dealt with Peter.

 

He wiped the obvious stream of tears from his cheeks and took the vial with him and he descended to the Med Bay where Peter was hooked up to various monitors.

 

“Hey kiddie,” he began, slipping into the quiet room and moving to Peter’s side. “I have something really important to tell you, okay?” Peter nodded bleakly. “You know how I’ve been spending a lot of time in the lab these past few months? Well, I’ve been working on something really big, but I didn’t want to tell you in case it failed.”

 

Tony took a breath and held out the vial, Peter’s weak fingers trembling as he touched the side of the glass curiously. “It’s a cure,” Tony whispered. “That’s why I kept telling you it would be okay, because I was creating and synthesising the cure all along.”

 

Peter smiled weakly, tugging at Tony’s hand and pointing shakily to his I.V line.

 

“N – now?” He croaked, wincing slightly at the deep ache in his body as he shifted.

 

“Yeah, it takes four days to work fully, but within the next few hours it starts reducing headaches, nausea and all the other side effects.” Tony explained hurriedly as he pressed the arguably most important substance into the I.V line and kissed Peter’s forehead gently.

 

He smiled, willing to wait out the next four days until he could watch Peter walking, smiling, laughing, eating, _living_ again.

 

\----

 

The four-day mark arrived at the exact time when Peter was strong enough to fling his small body into Tony’s arms and sob into his shoulder, choking out gushes of his appreciation and gratitude, telling him repeatedly how much he loved him.

 

Tony knew that at that point, there was no way he could keep hiding it out of fear and anxiety. Peter deserved to know who his Dad was.

 

\----

 

“But… don’t those similarities mean… mean that there’s paternal linkage?” Peter stuttered, pointing out the same things Tony’s had notes when he first saw the blood tests.

 

“Yeah,” he coughed, staring at the boy with watering eyes. “You were the child that was taken away from me before birth. Your mother ran off with you and I never found her. I – I still have boxes and boxes of birth records from around the time you were supposed to be born.” Tony cupped Peter’s cheek and bent down to one knee, letting his tears fall as Peter’s began to as well. “You’re my son… a – and you found your way home, baby.”

 

Peter broke apart when Tony called him his baby, and he fell forward into his arms, hugging tighter than he had, even when he thought he wouldn’t make it. A small litany of ‘Dad… Dad, Daddy!’ Fell from Peter’s mouth, and Tony sobbed into his bony shoulder, parroting back the same affirmations.

 

The two of them stayed in each other’s arms for the rest of the day, not willing to let go now that they had found what they needed.

 

Tony needed his child, who had been hidden from him.

 

And Peter needed a parent who wouldn’t raise him with the bare minimum effort. He needed to be _loved_ and _wanted_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~ Please give me a follow if you're interested <3
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	23. Addicted (Part 1) *Auction AU*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scouter was addicted. He watched Peter every morning and afternoon as he walked back home to his father in Avengers tower.
> 
> He couldn't go without seeing the boy.
> 
> If Peter was his addiction, he was about to overdose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

The scouter quieted his alarm, sitting up and smiling excitedly as he pushed off his bedsheets and pulled on a robe, walking to the window and settling as he parted the curtains for a good view. He glanced back at the clock, it was ten past eight, he had five more minutes until he could watch the same boy from across the street.

 

In the beginning, he had been surprised to see such young kid living in the Avenger’s Tower. But, almost ten years ago when he began tracking the appearances of who went in and who went out, he began to notice more and more of a certain young boy who clutched Tony Stark’s hand and followed him through the doors, always smiling widely.

 

He grew into a small boy, possibly about eight or nine, with large glasses, pale complexion and a wild head of seemingly untameable curls.

 

The scouter watched him grow, he was always watching from his window in the apartment next to the tower, or on a park bench, hidden behind a newspaper around the time the boy would get home from the subway. He had his timings all perfectly laid out, even scribbled and re-written each update in a small journal.

 

On Monday, Tuesday and Thursday, the boy would walk to the subway and catch the subway home after school. 

 

On Wednesday, he did the same in the morning, but was dropped home by Tony Starks driver, Happy Hogan in the afternoon. He was home an hour and a half later on Wednesday’s, assumingly because of an afterschool commitment.

 

On Friday’s, the young teen would be driven and picked up by Tony Stark in one of his best cars. And without much variation, each Friday night a pizza delivery was made.

 

The scouter hadn’t officially been assigned to the young boy, it was… his project on the side. He still completed his monthly rounds, bringing able looking adults and occasionally the elder teen to the head auctioneers, but never before had he been so intrigued by the prospect of owning his own slave-slash-worker.

 

Which is why this boy across the road and within the tower had held his attention since day one.

 

He wasn’t part of the child’s life, in fact the boy and his father had no clue he existed, but he knew more about them than the average reporter would know.

 

He remembered seeing the boy carefully walking home around the age of six or so, a small ceramic mug in his hand with the hand-painted, sloppy but meaningful mug clutched tightly in his arms. It had read ‘ _#1 Best IronDad_ ’ and the child had looked so careful and precise when he had hidden the mug away in his school bag.

 

And now… Now, he was watching as the same boy, who must be at least fourteen, as he walked out of the main entrance and began moving down the street towards the subway.

 

The scouter had a plan in place, he just had to wait for next Monday afternoon, which wasn’t far away, considering it was Thursday. He just had to be patient and enjoy the show for what it was in the meantime.

 

Because soon enough he would be able to keep the boy locked away at his side for however long he wanted.

 

And hadn’t that always been his goal?

 

\---- Friday ----

 

“Dad! Get outta bed, it’s Friday!” Peter screeched excitedly, poking the lump which was probably Tony’s shoulder hidden under the duvet.

 

“ _Mmhhhng…_ ” Tony grumbled from under the covers, lazily throwing an arm out and patting along the bed until he felt Peter’s knee, before reaching up and petting the top of his head – as if he were alarm clock which would shut off after you bopped it enough times.

 

“Come on, hurry up! Remember last time we ordered the shopping, I convinced you to get those shake ‘n’ bake mixes?” Tony groaned as he felt Peter crawling over his legs and hitting his head with a pillow. “We should totally make those this morning! Hey, I’ll go start making them now, should I…?”

 

Peter yelped before falling into a round of laughter as Tony bolted into a sitting position and grabbed his wrist before he could tumble off the bed.

 

“No way. I am _not_ spending an hour of my Friday scraping half cooked pancake batter off the roof like last time.” Tony pushed the pillow that Peter had thrown to the side, rubbing one of his eyes blearily until Peter’s face focused in front of him.

 

Wide and eager hazel eyes were staring straight back at him. “Okay, _okay_ , I’m up.” Tony huffed.

 

The two of them spent half an hour making breakfast, Tony had to prevent Peter from trying to flip like their previous encounter with pre-made pancake mix.

 

“It wasn’t my fault the pan handle broke off!” Peter cried indignantly as Tony lightly nudged him away from the stovetop.

 

“No, I’ll admit that. But it was your fault you were flipping so aggressively,” he levelled, putting the last pancake onto Peter’s plate.

 

The boy grinned widely and wrinkled his nose when Tony tapped the top of his head with the back of the spatula. “Eat that, and then go get ready for school, ‘kay?”

 

Peter mumbled an affirmative through his mouthful and rolled his eyes as Tony ruffled his curls fondly. “Don’t forget it’s your night to pick the movie,” he called as Peter ran off to run his hands through his hair a few times and brush his teeth.

 

Eight minutes later and he ran out again, smiling gleefully when Tony grabbed his backpack strap and pulled him into a hug. He never let his kid run off without a bit of affection, so that he knew he was loved before the school day, which was often when his confidence came tumbling down.

 

\---- Monday Morning ----

 

The scouter had eagerly watched the young teen walking to the subway in the morning like a drug addict seeking out his daily fix.

 

But he held back the temptation to just tear the boy off the streets then and there – because he already knew that he wouldn’t need to move further than his apartment to get his fix. 

 

He truly was addicted, but for the first time in years, his cravings could be fulfilled.

 

He just had to bottle everything up until after the boy finished school.

 

\---- Monday Afternoon ----

 

Peter smiled kindly as he collected his gummy worms and sandwich from Delmar’s. He scratched the fluffy cat at the counter and closed the door softly as to not disturb the little guy.

 

He walked along, the tower in sight and the few apartment buildings opposite were visible too. Normally, Peter would have crossed at the lights, but on that Monday afternoon he saw a man struggling with four – very clearly overfilled – bags of trash.

 

He was trying to keep them all simultaneously off the pavement to stop them from ripping open, whilst also tediously making his way down a small set of stairs out the front of the building.

 

Peter, being the kind-hearted soul that he was, immediately picked up into a jog to help the man.

 

“Hi, sir… do you need a hand?” He asked politely, offering as he reached out for two of the four bags.

 

“Oh… thank you, if it’s not a bother then it would be really helpful.” The man smiled, letting Peter take two of the bags. His eyes were greyish blue, he was tall, relatively skinny, and he looked like he was a nice person in Peter’s opinion.

 

“It’s no trouble at all!” Peter assured, hoisting one of the bags over his shoulder and following the man to the side of the building where he was pointing out a dumpster in the alley beside the apartments.

 

“Thank you so much, you’re a nice kid. What’s your name?” The man asked as the two of them emptied the bags into the trash.

 

“Um, I’m Peter, sir.” The man smiled lopsidedly, stretching his arms casually as Peter tipped the last bag over the edge of the dumpster.

 

\----

 

The scouter watched feverishly as the young boy before him stretched out to reach the lip of the bin, spilling the remainder of the fake rubbish into the dumpster. He stretched, his right hand subtly dripping the small bottle of chloroform over the rag he had pocketed before feigning his distress in lifting rubbish bags. The cloth was soaked almost immediately, and as soon as the boy – Peter, such a gorgeous name – turned to face him, he smiled and rested the hand with the rag over the back of his shoulder, pretending to pat him on the back as he really prepared for the moment he had been waiting almost the child’s entire life for.

 

“Peter, isn’t that a lovely name?” He said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he disregarded any effort, he was putting towards keeping the boy unalert. “A nice name for a nice slave,” he murmured, quickly throwing his arm around Peter’s neck and pinning the cloth over his lips and nose, gripping the small arm which came up to rip away his perfectly calculated attack.

 

He watched the boy as his frantic scrabbling drifted to weak slapping, until his entire body began falling limper and limper in his hold. “ _Shh, shh_ …” He cooed, beginning to walk backwards towards the back end of the alley, Peter’s shoes dragging along the dirty concrete. “Hush, no more squirming. You’ve got an owner now – it’s time to learn some obedience.”

 

He waited until he clearly saw Peter’s wide and terrified eyes rolling back into his skull. “There you go, precious…” the scouter sighed, finally releasing his grip and watching the boneless boy hitting the pavement. “Now for the seamless transfer,” he muttered, pulling one of the discarded trash bags closer to where he was now crouching over the limp form.

 

He carefully lifted his boy’s feet up with one arm, slipping the mouth of the black garbage bag underneath with the other. He hummed softly and happily as he slowly worked his way up, lifting parts of Peter’s body up, only to slide the garbage bag up and over his milky skin. “So perfect,” he admired softly, sliding a hand over the pale expanse of his boy’s throat and collarbones. “You’ll fit,” he said to himself, finally pulling the bag over Peter’s head and tying it loose enough so that he could breathe.

 

The scouter grunted as he picked the bag up and hauled it over his shoulder, walking towards the back of the alley where the fire escape into his apartment led.

 

No body, no crime.

 

No security tapes of him dragging his young teen up the stairs, no way it could be pinned back on him.

 

Just the way he wanted it.

 

\----

 

Peter woke up to a warmth spreading over his cheek, his eyes wearily flickering open as he blinked in disgruntlement when the lights blinded him.

 

“W – who… wha’?” He mumbled, trying to sit up against the hand pressed against his chest, keeping him down.

 

“Hey, sweetie,” the man in front of him answered, pulling the warmish flannel from his cheek. “Just washing away some of the dirt from the alley.” He explained, not even pretending to care as the look of horror and realisation showed on Peter’s face.

 

“God… I’ve been watching you for almost your entire life, but everything you do still amazes me.” Peter jerked backwards, his head smacking the wall.

 

“What the hell… y – you _stalked_ me!? You’re psycho!” Peter parted his mouth to scream for his father, but a large hand clamped over his lips just before the even larger body crashed into him, pinning him to the floor and gripping the sides of his head roughly.

 

“You try to scream or run – I _will_ hurt you. Rule one. Get used to it, _slave_. Peter gaped internally but kept his mouth shut. “Tell me that I’m your master, got it?” Peter hesitated, earning himself an angry slap across his now burning cheek. “SAY IT!” The scouter yelled, hitting him again, harder this time.

 

“M – Master! You’re my master, sir.” Peter relented. The scouter grinned evilly.

 

“Good boy,” he praised sickeningly, petting the top of Peter’s head with calloused fingers. “You’ll quickly learn your place, don’t worry about that.” He chuckled as he leaned in darkly, “you’ve been my obsession for _years _. Now, you’re my best addiction, Petey.”__

__

__Peter shook his head defiantly, crying out as another harsh slap to the side of his face was dealt, leaving him dizzy._ _

__

__“You are nothing but a slave – you’re my toy. Don’t ever forget that.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~ Please give me a follow if you're interested <3
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	24. Blood Lust (Part 2) *Auction AU*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of yesterday's auction AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

Peter had spent his first year with the original scouter.

 

The man was right, he _had_ learnt his place as a slave – a body that bent and bruised for the entertainment of its master.

 

The first few months were spent with him learning, being trained and beaten into submission. Then he drifted through the next several months is a state of disassociation or agony. His owner worked during the day, and he was left alone in the apartment.

 

Peter knew it only made him sadder, but he liked to press himself out the tinted window which looked down at the street where he occasionally caught a glimpse of the people he used to know. The life he used to live.

 

Sometimes he would see Happy, he had lighter hair, as if he were aging. His shoulders seemed more slumped and he often rubbed his eyes like he was tired and stressed.

 

Peter didn’t know that Happy missed the vibrant kid he used to drive to and from school each week.

 

On weekends and Fridays, he often saw Rhodey, showing up with food. Peter had no clue that Tony would only eat if someone forced him to, and he also didn’t know that the garbage bags Rhodey would throw out were full of empty liquor bottles that Tony downed in a week, drowning away the grief of missing his child.

 

Peter didn’t see his Dad out the window much.

 

The first month or so, when Tony had spent the most time outside, was unfortunately the time which Peter spent locked away in a closet, fabric stuffed into his mouth and duct tape sealing it shut to muffle his terrified screams as his owner went to work.

 

He spent the night that he was taken in the closet. It meant that he missed the police cars pulling up outside his old home, he didn’t get to see his panicking father giving his description to the cops, or the way he broke down against Rhodey’s shoulder after the police left again.

 

Peter missed the feeling of what must have been love.

 

He missed feeling safe, and cared for.

 

He just wanted to be held, or kissed gently on the forehead before bed, not slammed against a doorframe when he failed to prepare dinner to his owner’s liking, or backhanded when he hadn’t managed to vacuum and mop before his owner came home.

 

But nothing compared to the last two months of his ownership.

 

His owner stopped going to work, beginning to spend all his time at home, either praising Peter’s domesticated routines or beating him when a toe slipped out of line.

 

And then the notice of eviction came, and Peter was sat down on the living room floor as his owner swallowed a mouthful of whiskey and told him he was up for auction at the end of the week.

 

“W – what?” He whimpered meekly.

 

“You’re getting sold to the highest bidder, because I need money for an apartment.” Peter looked up at his owner with wide, teary eyes. He didn’t want to be further away from where home used to be, he wanted to have the security of being able to look out the window and see the tower. “Besides,” the man continued, “you were always a better slave when you had a bit of defiance left in you.”

 

\----

 

And so, because Peter was powerless, he was driven to an underground auction site which smelled of sweat, cigarette smoke and expensive aftershave, and dumped into a cage of his own. He stared down at the small identification tag that had been clipped to his plain, grey pants.

 

The teen hugged his bare chest, shuffling to the back of his large cage as more and more people filtered past, occasionally looking through the bars and speaking about him as if he weren’t there.

 

“Why’s it got such a high estimated value if it’s only been trained since this year?”

 

“It’s Stark’s kid, he’s got a big reward out for ‘em.”

 

“Wonder if it can get on his knees and scrub the grout between the kitchen tiles…”

 

“I bet it has some potential, especially with the new formula we’ve been developing.”

 

Peter stayed where he was, curled in a ball until he was dragged out by the hair, carried onstage and dumped beside the podium where the auctioneer was waiting to begin. His owner was there, and a dark part of him took some sort of comfort in having somebody he knew petting his hair and scratching his scalp lovingly, as if he didn’t want to sell him.

 

Peter fazed out slightly as the bidding began, and he didn’t fully recover until he was already being led back offstage and dropped beside a group of men in ordinary clothing.

 

“You will be a subject from now on. You aren’t anything aside from an experiment. You will not fight, or scream, or beg to be killed – unless you want to be punished.” Peter nodded stiffly, letting two of the men pick him up and pull him to his feet by the elbows.

 

Peter spent the next seven months strapped to a lab table, surrounded by the same men who wore only white lab coats and did nothing but press scalpel after scalpel and needle after needle into his skin. Running tests, diagnostics, epidurals and playing around with radioactive lab equipment and different small insects.

 

On nights where he was left alone in the darkness of the closed lab, chained up against the slab of metal which was now his home, he thought about his dad.

 

He remembered the times he would come home slightly bruised from gym or Flash, _or both_ , and was met with a stack of pillows and blankets laid out on the couch, a cup of hot cocoa, and four movies ready to be chosen from as Tony kissed the crown of his head and promised everything would be okay.

 

He could sometimes hear the distant echo of memories almost forgotten, because they felt like a hundred lifetimes ago…

 

_“Dad, guess what?”_

_“What’s that, buddy?”_

_“Happy fathers day!” Peter squealed, jumping onto the couch and hurriedly unzipping his bag and pulling out a sphere of paper and bubble wrap. “Open it!” He cried excitedly, watching Tony beginning to unravel the lumps of protective wrap._

_“Aw, kiddo – I love it!” Tony cradled the coffee mug reading ‘#1 IronDad’ and pulled Peter into a side hug, squeezing him tightly and promising extra popcorn for their movie night._

 

And then the lights snapping back on at seven in the morning pulled him away from his dissociative travels down bittersweet memory lane, and he was thrown roughly back into the choppy waters of the now.

 

One day they placed a glass jar over his hand, lifting it up carefully and stepping back, watching and observing as Peter felt something shifting over his hairs, running up and along his arm, across his chest, behind his neck, and then sinking down into his flesh as he cried out in pain. A small, withered spider fell onto the floor off the lab as he squirmed viscously.

 

He spent that night in intensive care, his fever climbing and climbing until he was left writhing and sobbing against the normally cold metal bench which his body was heating up and he tilted between dangerously high and low heart rates.

 

The next time he was sold, his original price had almost tripled.

 

The auctioneer called him an asset. A mutant. A _freak_.

 

He spent three months working each day and some nights for a business man who had no time to care for his own needs or his farm’s. Peter worked gruelling, cruel hours, cooking and cleaning only to sit on the floor at the man’s feet and wait for his leftovers for dinner to be dropped at his feet.

 

And then he was dumped back at the auction site the day after he had a night terror so vivid that he crushed a hole through the plaster wall in his ‘bedroom,’ (cupboard, at best.)

 

He was back in his cage, with belt marks across his back and a hallway of other anxious looking slaves and workers to be bought.

 

He waited three hours, sitting and staring obediently ahead, moving forward when potential bidders wiggled their fingers through the cage and grinned as he nudged his forehead against their outstretched palms, his body quivering at the sensation of having fingers run through his hair again.

 

Twenty minutes before final observations were made, a large man with heavy footsteps and loud breathing came wandering down the hall, wrinkling his nose at most of the options, yet slowing as he reached Peter’s cage.

 

“You’re good enough, aren’t you?” He muttered, tilting Peter’s chin this way and that, observing the angles and dimensions of his face, plucking a hair from his head and holding it up to the light like a mad scientist. “Perfect, I’ll be seeing you,” he promised, continuing along down the hall and piling into the auction room like everyone else.

 

“ _Psst_ ,” Peter jerked his head three cages down and to his left. “Hey, spider boy?” He pressed his fingers up against the cage and peeked out to where one of the boy’s closest to his age was waving at him.

 

The older boy was twenty-three, and that’s the closest any other person for sale got to his age.

 

“Whatever you do, don’t let yourself be bought by him,” the boy warned, staring at Peter in the eyes.

 

He tilted his head in question, still too afraid to talk for fear of breaking the rules. “They call that guy the blood luster – he buys people like us and then messes them up in the head. Like… Stockholm syndrome bad.” Peter noted the way the other boys and men shivered from their cages. “Once he’s gained people’s trust, he kills them. And brutally too. That’s why we all turned away, don’t show him any obedience, unless you want to get slaughtered.”

 

“It takes him months,” an even older man spoke up from the cage beside Peter’s. “Normally half a year, but with someone who’s already far gone… it could be less than a week or two. You need to be careful…” Peter nodded worriedly.

 

He wasn’t oblivious, he knew ho far gone he was. He had reached the point where affection was affection, and he would lean into any touch which wasn’t meant to punish. He thought it might have had to do with how young and vulnerable he had been when he was first taken, especially compared to everyone else.

 

The security alarm buzzed, and rushed footsteps bustled down the hall. Most of the boy’s shrank back, and Peter couldn’t help but shy away, especially after what he had just heard.

 

Expensive shoes clicked against the linoleum, and Peter heard the sound of the man murmuring each slave’s name as he walked past the rows of cages and read the names.

 

“… Pe… P – Peter… Peter?” The voice stuttered, slamming to a halt outside of his cage.

 

Peter whined and shrunk away from the bidder, crawling to the back of the cage as fancy dress suit pants kneeled before him and a face appeared outside of his walled prison.

 

“Petey? Baby, I – is that you?” Peter perked up, recognition flooding his consciousness as the black goatee floated into his vision as too did the brown eyes matching his own. “Oh god… baby!”

 

Tony threw a hand through the cage walls as Peter scrambled to nuzzle against the like a stared animal, pawing at his father, clawing at his jacket and trying to slink into his embrace through the cage wall.

 

“I got you, everyone’s here. S.H.I.E.L.D agents are right outside, waiting on my call. I have you now, nobody’s going to hurt you sweetie.” Peter’s heart wrenched on a sob as he tried so hard to not refuse to believe what his father was promising.

 

“D – Da – ad?” He croaked out, voice broken from disuse.

 

“Yeah, yeah it’s me buddy. I’m here. You’re safe.” Tony scrambled to unpick the lock, his small wire beeping as he pressed it. The immediate rush of sound filled the background.

 

Peter could distantly hear smoke bombs going off in the main auction hall, glass shattering and gunshots echoing throughout the underground facility.

 

The door swung open and he half crawled, half got pulled into Tony’s arms, his hands looping around his neck and face burying in the crook of his neck.

 

“Pete, god… I got you, you’re safe. I swear…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~ Please give me a follow if you're interested <3
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	25. Battle Field (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You… want me t – to come on the next mission? With the Avengers?” Peter swallowed, glad that his mask was covering the fact that he was sweating bullets and flitting between flushing and paling.
> 
>  
> 
> “Exactly. This is a big deal now; the Accords are out of control and we need all hands on deck. Meet everyone at the landing pad on the roof of the tower this Friday.” Fury crossed his arms, “this is a real battle field now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

Sometimes, when you have a responsibility, you are forced to give up the priorities you already had in place for day to day life.

 

It’s why Steve and Tony had to swallow their fears when Peter was around the age of seven and take their first long mission since he had become a part of their family.

 

It wasn’t as if Nick Fury had let the two of them live a domestic life for seven entire years, of course not. A few times each month, at least one of them was called out to work on a mission for a day or so. 

 

When Steve was out on a mission, Peter picked up on the extra emotional strain Tony had to cope with, and vice versa. There was always the silent worry that one day, one of his parents might not come home after a mission.

 

\----

 

The first mission was one of the worst, especially considering Peter was only two when Steve had to pack a bag and fly to Russia for four days.

 

He remembered how he had pressed a kiss to Tony’s forehead before scooping Peter from his arms and bouncing him lightly, smiling sadly as his boy gurgled happily, making grabby hands.

 

“Poh!” Peter squealed, slapping at Steve’s cheeks and giggling when he was pulled closer.

 

“Dad’s gonna take care of you for a little bit, and I’ll be home before you even realise. Okay, bud?” Peter nodded, oblivious to the situation as he was handed back to Tony and cradled in his arms as him and his father watched his Pops climbing the ramp of the Quin Jet.

 

“We’ll be fine kiddo, don’t even worry about it,” Tony had murmured into Peter’s curls, which were far too thick and fluffy for a two-year-old to wrangle into place.

 

Peter had been okay for that night, and most of the next day, but at dinner time was when he started getting antsy.

 

The thing was, Steve had relatively traditional values when it came to table manners. So, Peter had learned not to touch his meal until everyone was seated and ready to eat. The issue was, Steve hadn’t sat down, because of course, he was in Russia, looting some old HYDRA bases for information.

 

Which meant that Peter didn’t want to start eating.

 

“Pete, c’mon. I already told you, Pop’s will be back on Thursday, okay? You gotta eat,” Tony pressed, putting a fork in Peter’s hand.

 

“No!” He wailed, pushing his plate away and dropping the fork.

 

Needless to say, it had taken a video call of Steve eating noodles from his hotel room before Peter relented to actually finishing his dinner.

 

\----

 

Peter’s birth parents had died in a plane crash, and his last living relatives, May and Ben Parker, didn’t have enough financial security to support a child, as much as they wanted to.

 

Tony and Steve had adopted the boy only two days into his stay at a foster home.

 

But May and Ben were still there, which is why Steve and Tony could contain their panic at the prospect of having to go on a mission at the same time, because they knew May and Ben loved Peter as much as they did.

 

“Hi, Aunt May!” Peter called as he practically rolled out of the car, running to the intercom and hurriedly pressing the apartment number excitedly.

 

“Hi Pete, come on up.” Peter grinned when he heard his uncle’s voice, hauling his backpack over his shoulder and letting Steve push him into an upright position when he teetered from the weight of all his books.

 

When Peter, Tony and Steve came out of the elevator, Ben and May were already standing at the door to their apartment, smiling almost as widely as Peter was.

 

\----

 

It stung to say goodbye for what was technically an undetermined period of time, but Tony and Steve had already put their feet down and told Fury that they wouldn’t go any longer than two weeks without flying home to see Peter.

 

The mission and absence of having their son with them actually went a bit smoother than they had originally planned for. When the ramp descended after they hit the runway, and Steve saw three specks only a few hundred yards away, he instantly recognised the moving one to be Peter.

 

Tony knew the other two were Happy and his car, but the undeniably loud squeals meant that it wasn’t hard to tell who was about to barrel right into him and Steve.

 

“Dad! Pops! I missed you!” Peter cried, squeezing tightly and letting himself be picked up.

 

“We missed you too buddy, just be a little mindful of Dad’s arm,” Steve warned, gesturing to where Tony was rolling his eyes and shrugging off the compression bandage around his left arm.

 

“I’m okay kid, c’mere.” He sighed when he felt Peter scrabbling across the ramp and into his arms. He crouched down to wrap his arms around his boy’s neck, squeezing comfortingly and smiling as Peter hugged him back just as happily.

 

“I made you guys a cake,” Peter murmured, his voice muffled against Tony’s shoulder. Steve hummed appreciatively as he knelt beside Tony and kissed the back of Peter’s head.

 

“You didn’t have to do that, buddy.” Steve combed four fingers through Peter’s hair, noting the extra volume which indicated that he had probably washed it the night before. “We missed you a lot,” he admitted, gingerly taking Tony’s right arm, his unbandaged hand, and helping him and Peter to their feet.

 

\----

 

The next few years consisted similarly to the first mission, and Peter would be lying if he said that there weren’t times where he disliked how much his parents worked. He got to spend a lot of time with his aunt and uncle, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was selfish each time he got upset over his parents missing an event or award ceremony.

 

He didn’t think too much about it, but a short while after his fourteenth birthday was when he had his first real spike of anger.

 

His parents had been home for about three weeks top, and a few days before they were scheduled to leave on another long mission, Peter had asked Tony to sign a permission slip for him.

 

He had forgotten.

 

To be fair, the departure time was supposed to be on Thursday, but it got shuffled forward to Tuesday, meaning Fury had only given them about an hour’s notice before they had to leave. Peter nervously watched his parents bustling around the house, throwing their gear into duffel bags and rushing to press last minute kisses to his forehead. The door to the rooftop landing pad clanged shut behind them as annoyance, for the first time in his life, bubbled up in Peter’s chest.

 

“I don’t get it! I asked them to do one thing for me in the entire three weeks they had been back - _one thing_ , and they forgot. Now I’m going to be stuck in the school library while all my classmates get to go to Oscorp!” Ben sighed in agreeance, patting Peter’s shoulder and managing a somewhat hopeful smile.

 

“I’ll see what I can do buddy,” he promised.

 

And he followed through.

 

Peter handed his slip in to the teacher with his aunt and uncle’s signatures and plopped down into the seat next to Ned.

 

The trip was eventful, to say the least.

 

Well… Peter would have described it as engaging at best, and bad comic book plot at worst.

 

He curled up in his bedroom at the tower on his own, somehow managing to flick a text off to May and Ben to tell them his parents were home for the night as a visit, before promptly collapsing onto his mattress and only moving throughout the night to shiver violently as a fever raged.

 

When he woke up, he was… different.

 

His glasses made his vision worse, he could hear the bustle of Stark Industries employees from almost fifteen floors down, and when he hit his alarm clock, it dented in the shape of his palm.

 

“What the hell…? He murmured, flexing his fingers and making a fist.

 

\----

 

Peter imagines the next few weeks for him were similar to what his Pops must have been through after he got the serum.

 

He started toying with a few concepts, working out the ins and outs of his newfound ‘powers’ and even kept track of some new abilities he had noted. Superhuman reflexes, a buzzing sensation in his head before something bad happened, super hearing, sight and… stickiness?

 

The guilty anger still hadn’t seemed to subside however, and that, paired along with how sensitive he was to light and sound, mixed together to create a superhuman bad mood.

 

Which Uncle Ben paid the price for.

 

\----

 

When Tony and Steve wrapped up their month-long mission early and stepped off the Quin Jet only to _not_ find their kid running up the ramp to greet them, worry churned their guts.

 

They walked in with bags in their arms before turning to see Peter sprawled across the couch, a blanket draped haphazardly over his shoulders.

 

“Pete?” Tony asks wearily, turning to look back at Steve for encouragement.

 

“Hey kid, we’re home for the rest of the month. How are you doin –” Tony rushed to cut Steve off, hushing him sharply.

 

“He’s asleep,” he said quietly, gently kneeling beside the couch and frowning when he noted the wet lashes stuck together. “It looks like he’s been crying,” he pointed out sadly, chewing the inside of his cheek with worry. “Do you want to take him back to his room?” Steve eyed Peter for a moment, taking in the Avengers themed pillow that was clutched between Peter’s arms and blanket.

 

“I think he’s just missed us a lot, Tony. We should stick close to him for tonight,” Steve answered as he slipped a gentle arm under Peter’s backside and legs, pulling him in close to his chest. “Besides, our bed is more than big enough, and you need to sleep too.”

 

\---- Two Months Later, Fourteen Weeks as Spider-Man ----

 

Tony and Steve felt more comfortable going back on more missions once Peter had been pulled back out of the grief of losing Ben, and they were surprised to find him more open to the idea of his parents not being home as much. But, little did they know, Peter was glad to not have to sneak Spider-Man around behind his parent’s backs, which was a lot easier when they weren’t home.

 

Spidey had been a big help for Peter, the rush of web slinging around plus the knowledge that he was doing good and saving lives had helped him feel less of a sore thumb, sticking out so obviously amongst his family of superheroes and Avengers.

 

He knew he was making a difference, and he knew it was being noticed by not only New York, but his parents too.

 

But what he _didn’t_ account for, was Nick Fury noticing him enough to get in contact.

 

“You… want me t – to come on the next mission? With the Avengers?” Peter swallowed, glad that his mask was covering the fact that he was sweating bullets and flitting between flushing and paling.

 

“Exactly. This is a big deal now; the Accords are out of control and we need all hands on deck. Meet everyone at the landing pad on the roof of the tower this Friday.” Fury crossed his arms, “this is a real battle field now.”

 

“I have one condition,” Peter said firmly, very prepared to back out of the deal if Fury couldn’t give him the single thing he needed. “My mask stays on. Nobody knows who I am or what my life story is. There are people I’m trying to protect,” he finished bluntly. He refused to shake the man’s hand until he got a guarantee that nobody on the team would dig into his life.

 

\----

 

Peter let his parents wrap him up in a long embrace, Tony kissed the side of his head and promised to be back within two weeks.

 

Battle fields are almost as unpredictable as promises though…

 

Peter, or Spider-Man, reluctantly dropped from his last web and rolled to his feet, walking up the ramp as calmly as he could manage.

 

_Relax, you’ve done this a thousand times before. You’ve known these people since you were still playing with blocks._

 

Tony was looking at the floor, his head leant against Steve’s shoulder. Both of them looked worried about something.

 

Obviously, the team had been de-briefed on his accompaniment, because nobody drew their weapons on him. He looked back worriedly to his parents, his lenses adjusting as his eyebrows dipped in concern.

 

“Don’t mind them, they hate these missions,” Natasha said, watching Peter as he moved into a seat.

 

“Why’s that?” He asked, thanking his past self for managing to install a realistic voice modifier.

 

“Nat, I think we can stick to the mission, and the mission only.” Tony cut in, desperately wanting to steer the conversation away from his personal life which happened to revolve around his son, who could too easily become a target if the new hero picked up on it.

 

The flight was long and tedious, Peter fiddled with his web shooters, Tony and Steve spoke quietly and everyone else remained stoic and calm.

 

When they landed, it was a lot less of an airport battle, and more of a literal battle field.

 

Ross had his men drowning in weapons up to their chins, and they were all too prepared for the arrival of The Avengers, plus Spidey.

 

They were evenly matched for a while, and then Tony’s suit went offline when he took an electrical hit meant for Steve, and Peter couldn’t help but go after the agents who were dragging his dad towards a transportation vehicle, suitless, concussed, and defenceless.

 

He got two of them down, catching Tony before his body hit the ground, but then his senses thrummed dangerously, and he turned to see his Pops defending Sam and Clint who were definitely outnumbered.

 

But that wasn’t what his senses were busy screaming about…

 

It was the shooters ho had begun to aim for the support beam keeping a shipping crate up in the air, directly above Steve’s position.

 

“Cap!” He yelled, webbing to a pile of crates and pulling himself forward. He wrapped the spare arm which wasn’t holding his Dad around his Pops’ legs, tugging him to his feet and letting Tony’s head drop in his lap rather than the concrete. 

 

There was an angry groan and then he felt his elbows clicking as he took the entire weight of the shipping container, the shadow of it swallowing both him and both of his parents. “G – go!” He cried, jerking his head and growling when Steve didn’t get the chance to pull himself and Tony out of the way.

 

Peter yowled when a taser his hit straining core muscles, his arms locking in place as the weight continued pressing down.

 

Distantly, he heard Tony and Steve being dragged backward towards the truck.

 

“Right, main targets are out of the way, get the insect.” Peter had no time to steel himself when the taser was replaced with a boot kicking him backwards, the shipping container hitting the ground and cracking the asphalt.

 

“Ross, we have three detained and the rest are on the run now.” Peter heard the crackling of radio static as he was pulled upright, heavy cuffs clipping around his wrists as he was pushed forward.

 

“Noted. Bring the three into the facility, and make sure you have a team tracking the rest of the rogues.” Peter grunted as he was manhandled into the back of a truck, his chin hitting the floor harshly.

 

“Copy that, General Ross.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~ Please give me a follow if you're interested <3
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	26. Shot (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of yesterday's prompt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

Peter blinked as his mask adjusted to the light, a small whirr escaped his eyes as they widened in response.

 

“Hello?” Peter jolted, wondering why his senses hadn’t warned him there was somebody else in the back of the truck with him.

 

“Uh… yeah?” He called, squinting as he tried to distinguish what was either his mind playing tricks, or two nearly horizontal figures.

 

“Spider kid?” Peter flinched at the sudden reply, before softening as soon as he recognised the voice.

 

“Mr. Stark!” He cried, slipping over to where Tony was laid across the floor, his head against Steve’s chest. “Are you guys okay? I tried to warn you, Cap, I’m really sorry…” 

 

“Its fine, Spidey. Not your fault,” Steve assured, helping Tony as he moved into a sitting position. Peter watched his parents leaning on each other for support, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up with them… except Spider-Man would never do that, and how could he explain away a desire to cuddle up to his parents without taking his mask off?

 

“Um…” Peter began, the back of his neck prickling with worry. “Can you hear that?” He murmured, shifting uncomfortably as a low frequency hissing began to leak throughout the truck. He saw the silhouette of Steve’s head nodding, both of them looking up to the ceiling. “Is that… gas?”

 

As soon as Peter said it, Steve was pressing a hand over Tony’s face and pulling his own shirt up to cover his nose, gesturing wildly for Peter to do the same.

 

It didn’t take much time for the truck to fill with the musty, putrid smelling gas. Tony had the smallest lung capacity out of the three of them, and he went down first. His coughs dissolved into wheezy breaths and then, suddenly, he was slumped against Steve, who had also just taken his first breath.

 

Peter crawled over to his parents, reaching out blindly for Tony’s hand and squeezing it, if only to reassure himself before the gas fogged his vision and his own gags melted away into a dark abyss.

 

\----

 

Peter woke up with his chin rested on his chest. His neck was sore, and his wrists were clamped down to the arms of a metal rolling chair, but it was bolted to the ground and he couldn’t twist his body enough to turn around and see whose heartbeats he was hearing.

 

“Ah, good to see you’re awake. I’ve been waiting to speak with you.” Peter looked up dazedly, still feeling slightly clouded by whatever had filled the back of the truck. There was a man in a grey suit, he had grey eyes and a cold look on his face.

 

Peter recognised him from all the complaining his Dad had done around him and the accords.

 

“Ross,” he said curtly, glad to hear his voice modification was still intact. The man nodded his head in greeting, somewhat stiffly.

 

“I’m sorry we had to restrain you. It was smarter than merely waiting until you were awake to ask whether you had a choice, fighting alongside those two.” Ross’ head nodded towards the two heartbeats Peter could still hear.

 

“Wanna spin me around?” Peter said bluntly, tapping his fingers along the arm of the chair and attempting to twist his body to demonstrate. Ross laughed rudely, but spun him around to face the back wall of the room they were in.

 

Peter saw his parents, each slumped against the tiled wall, Tony had a bruise along his right cheekbone, and Steve’s temple was bloodied. Ross must have felt Peter tensing up, because he chuckled lightly, squeezing his shoulder.

 

“Well, I’m sure you’re aware that one of the biggest points of the accords was to eliminate secret identities…” Peter felt his chair spinning back around, his face only inches away from Ross’. “So, who are you really, Spider-Man?”

 

The fogginess cleared slightly as Peter realised what was about to happen, and he jerked backwards, twisting his wrists in the restraints and trying to fight against the hand slowly tugging the mask off his face. “Shut it, unless you want those two to wake up and see who you really are,” Ross hissed, yanking the rest of the mask off and taking a step back.

 

He stared for a moment, his face unsure.

 

His eyes flickered back to where Steve and Tony were still slumped, clearly unconscious.

 

Then his face split into a mad grin.

 

“If I were to have taken a shot in the dark…” he laid a hand on the backrest of Peter’s chair, looking into his eyes with a sick fascination. “I would never have pinned the two most influential superheroes in the world, to have their scrawny little kid, running around in spandex.”

 

“Screw you,” Peter spat bitterly, keeping his voice low. Ross looked up at the two heroes behind Peter.

 

“Oh, oh – ho – ho, they don’t _know_ , do they?” Peter looked away, biting the inside of his cheek so much that he winced. “This is just too perfect. _God_ , there are so many ways I could play this, isn’t there, Pete?”

 

Behind them, Steve groaned, spurring Ross to shove the mask back over Peter’s head, still grinning slyly. “I’m going to go get some things, you have fun talking to your parents,” Ross said mockingly, tilting Peter’s chair back around.

 

Peter would have yelled but taking the mask off meant that his voice modification had been switched off, and he couldn’t reach up to press the switch back on again.

 

“T’ny?” Steve grunted, blinking wearily as he felt Tony’s chest rising and falling against his arm. The brunette moaned uncomfortably, rolling so his face was pressed into Steve’s shoulder. “We’re on th’ raft…” he observed, looking around before landing on the hero tied in front of him. “Spidey, you alright?”

 

The most Peter could manage was a curt nod. Luckily Steve’s attention was redirected when Tony opened his eyes from beside him, immediately tugging against his chains.

 

“Right, let’s explain how this is going to work,” Ross called as he stepped back into the cell, causing Tony to jolt. Steve looked up angrily, his lips peeling back into one of disgust as Peter rolled his eyes from under his wrinkled mask. “You two,” Ross began, stepping beside Peter, so that he could still see the gestures. “Will answer every question I ask, or…”

 

A white-hot flare caused Peter to cry out, he squeezed his eyes shut and bit back the scream, knowing that if he let go, his parents would recognise him immediately. “Or the spider gets to take the brunt of your punishments.”

 

Peter had never really seen his dad look so bitter and furious at the same time. Tony was normally overprotective, but Peter could never have imagined him as looking that hating all because a taser was shoved into some random vigilantes’ side.

 

“Understand?” Ross pressed, smiling and clapping his hands together when Steve and Tony nodded unenthusiastically. “Right, let’s begin then.” He rested a hand on the back of Peter’s chair again, ignoring how Tony was staring at the masked hero and mouthing an apology. “You two have a child, do you not?”

 

Steve and Tony blanched, looking at Ross and then each other. The question had clearly thrown them off guard.

 

“We… what does this have to do with the accords?” Tony pushed back.

 

Another jolt of electricity flew throughout Peter’s ribcage, his back arching off the chair as he contained a cry of anguish and discomfort. He panted, growling lowly as he looked up to see the horrified expression on Steve’s face.

 

“Tick, tock, Mr. Rogers,” Ross teased, the taser flickering dangerously close to Peter’s neck this time.

 

“Yes.” Steve answered bluntly.

 

“Yes, _what_?” Ross pressed, ignoring how agitated and uncomfortable Tony looked.

 

“Yes, we have a son. Leave him out of it and ask us whatever else you wanted to know about the accor –”

 

“Tell me about him,” Ross continued calmly, blatantly ignoring the fact that Steve had begun to try and pull the chains off the wall. “I’m not waiting for you much longer,” Ross warned.

 

“Uh… uhm, shit – I don’t know what you want! What do you mean ‘tell me about him’?” Tony was getting panicky, and Peter felt his heart aching as he saw how desperate Tony looked when the taser pressed up against his neck, just waiting to be flicked on. “He’s a good kid, he – uh, he’s kind and he’s the best thing that ever happened to us!”

 

Ross pursed his lips, wanting more.

 

“He’s a genius,” Steve added on. “And we would kill for him, so if you’re asking us these things to get information on our child, you can bet that nobody’s going to find your body when we’re done with it.”

 

Peter flushed underneath his mask, feeling Ross pressing the taser a little closer.

 

“You’d kill for him?” Ross repeated, smirking boldly. Tony and Steve stayed silent. “I think we’ll come back to that point,” he said darkly, releasing the bonds on Peter’s chair as he spoke in a quieter voice. “I have four men outside that glass wall with guns trained on your heroes, so make a move – I dare you to try.”

 

Peter stiffened once again, begrudgingly allowing Ross to re-clamp his wrists behind his back. “We’ll be back, and there’ll be less questioning next time.”

 

\----

 

Peter was walked into a small bathroom, with a thin blue sheet for privacy. A guard thrust a pile of plain, grey clothing into his arms and told him to take off his suit, once again using the threat of his parents being hurt as a means to keep him in line.

 

“Perfect, you look just like the fifteen-year-old your parents think is at home, safe.” Ross laughed, watching as Peter was sat down on a small bench, his arms and legs restrained once more. “This is just blackmail material, nothing too special,” he prodded, backing up from where a security camera was re-angling itself to focus on Peter alone. “Begin,” Ross demanded.

 

Peter’s back arched off the table as a surge of electricity far greater than a taser flooded his body. His muscles spasmed and he couldn’t hold back a pained cry.

 

He knew the more helpless he looked, the easier it was for Ross to blackmail his parents, but he couldn’t force himself to bite back anymore screams. The pain was all-consuming, and he wanted it to end.

 

“Give us some tears and it’ll be over with,” Ross instructed from across the room. Peter bit his lip until metallic flavouring coated the inside of his mouth, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force tears so that the pain would just be _over_. “Scream for your parents, your _heroes_.”

 

Finally, after a particularly harsh voltage, a tear ran down Peter’s temple and into his hair. Ross gave him a few extra minutes until his eyes were wet and choked sobs and pleas were just beginning to fall from his mouth. Only then, did he shut off the machine.

 

“Good, good. Now, take him back to get changed.”

 

\----

 

Peter, now back in his suit, was thrown back into the cell with his parents, not restrained at all.

 

“Are you okay?” Tony asked worriedly, watching how the spider kid was hunched over, panting breathlessly and flinching away from each footstep that echoed around the room as Ross paced.

 

Something heavy hit the floor and was kicked over in Steve and Tony’s direction as Ross stepped behind the glass door and let it shut behind him. Peter shuddered when he heard the tape of what he had just endured flickering up to project on one of the white walls.

 

_“Scream for your parents,” Ross instructed over the sound of the electrical charge pulsing through Peter’s body._

_“N – n… naagh… ahh! Stop it, stop – please!” Peter’s head hit the bench as he roughly seized, his eyes rolling around in his skull for a brief moment. “DAD! Please, help… P – Pops… someone. I – it hurts.”_

_“Give us some tears.” Peter sobbed brokenly, his wrists lifting before falling limp again, his head shaking, the curls around his neck wet with his tears and sweat. “Perfect, your parents would kill for you, Peter.”_

 

Ross shut the clip off, pacing behind the glass and smiling as Steve looked from the gun on the floor to where he was stood.

 

“In case you were wondering, _that’s_ who you’re killing, in exchange for your son’s life, of course.” Ross pointed at Peter, grinning when the realisation dawned on everyone’s faces. “And as a deciding factor, I want you to know that we didn’t end it after that segment. He’s still strapped down to that bench as we speak.”

 

Peter snapped his head up, wanting so badly to deny that fact for his parents, but knowing that it would make everything worse if he didn’t play by Ross’ rules.

 

“Steve…” Tony said, his face pale as he stared between the hero kneeled before them, and the gun in Steve’s hand.

 

“I don’t know, I – I don’t…” Steve answered softly, flinching himself when the footage began playing again.

 

_“DAD! Please, help… P – Pops… someone. I – it hurts.”_

 

“Take the shot, Mr. Rogers.” Ross encouraged, watching as the footage played on a loop. “Turn off the safety, pull the trigger like you’ve done thousands of times, and it will end your son’s suffering.”

 

_“Scream for your parents.”_

 

Peter held his hands up, trembling shakily as he tried to think of a way out of the situation.

 

_“Give us some tears.”_

 

“Steve… oh god…” Tony was gripping Steve’s arm tightly, his nails digging in as tears welled. “He’s too similar. He’s too much like him.”

 

_“Your parents would kill for you, Peter.”_

 

“I… I can’t, I can’t.” Steve said, his own hands shaking as much as Peter’s were.

 

“Pull the trigger, Rogers. End it, and I shut off the machine that’s killing your son.” Tony took a breath, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “You either end this life, or I end your son’s.”

 

“He’s lying,” Peter said finally, watching his Pop’s finger hovering over the safety button. “Don’t, please don’t,” he whispered.

 

_“DAD! Please, help… P – Pops… someone. I – it hurts.”_

 

“Oh god… Tony…” Steve squeezed the safety off as Peter’s voice echoed throughout the room, mingling with the present Peter’s pleas.

 

“Wait, wait! Pop’s, Dad!” Peter cried, his fingers slipping underneath his mask. “Please, please look at me!”

 

Tony turned away, not wanting to see who was behind the mask, not wanting to see the man he would have to kill to save his child. Steve stared blankly ahead, eyes not registering Peter’s face for a moment.

 

“Dad… please.” Tony looked up, not wanting to see but not having the cowardness to look away.

 

He saw hazel eyes, and a mop of wild curls, red-rimmed and tear-stained cheeks like the ones he so normally brushed away after Flash got too rough, or his son had gone too long without a hug.

 

“Peter?”

 

_A shot echoed throughout the small cell, shocking all three of the family within._

 

\---- Four Hours Later ----

 

“Please, please Peter, hold on, okay? Okay! You’re gonna be okay, just keep squeezing my hand, buddy.” Tony ran alongside Steve, keeping Peter in his arms, ignoring the blood completely soaking his clothing and dotting his neck as Peter coughed up diluted crimson.

 

“Tony, how’s he doing?!” Steve yelled, angrily kicking a guard through a glass cell door.

 

“I – I don’t know, h – he’s not holding my hand, god Peter! Hold my hand!” His voice crackled, his hand desperately grabbing Peter’s and shaking it roughly. “WAKE UP!” He screamed, letting Steve yank him onto the helicopter which had probably been used to drop them at the raft in the first place.

 

Tony cradled Peter against his chest, cupping his back over the ribcage and trying to plug the flood of blood. “That son of a bitch, h – he shot our _child_!”

 

“I know,” Steve murmured, switching on autopilot as guards flooded the take-off zone, unable to do anything as the helicopter lifted off into the air. “I know he did, and he paid the price for it, but now we need to focus on Peter.”

 

“He’s a vigilante, he’s _Spider-Man_.” Tony said in disbelief, still checking Peter’s steady pulse every few minutes.

 

“That’s a good thing,” Steve assured. “Spider-Man has healing powers.”

 

“He’s going to be okay,” Steve whispered, leaning over the controls for the briefest of moments to press a kiss against Tony’s temple, brushing a curl from his son’s forehead tenderly. “He’s much more of a fighter than we thought.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~ Please give me a follow if you're interested <3
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	27. Asylum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you think he’s fixed?” One of the doctors murmured.
> 
>  
> 
> Despite the traces of nausea swirling around in his body, and the way everything stung his eyes and made the room spin from the electrocution, Peter looked up, his shaky body tensing as he spoke weakly.
> 
>  
> 
> “I am not _broken_.”
> 
>  
> 
> \----
> 
>  
> 
> Or, an AU where Tony is Peter's biological father and they live in 1941...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: This is set in 1941, so there is a lot of stigma and homophobic opinions surrounding bisexuality and homosexuality. I specifically made sure not to use may slurs, in fact there is only one, and it's time period accurate so it might not even make sense (hopefully that can be a good way to bypass triggering people) but there is conversion therapy, specifically electroshock and induced nausea. There is some talk of Peter being 'mentally unstable,' 'disgusting,' 'an abomination,' and 'broken.'   
> I just feel like I wanna put out there I am fully supportive of everything in the LGBT+ community (technically I can't call myself an ally because I'm more than that ;)
> 
> \----
> 
> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

\---- 1941 ----

 

“ _Ah! Oh – ow!_ Hey, get the hell off me!” Peter cried out as his chest hit the brick wall of an alley, his wrists being tugged behind his back as a palm shoved his face forward, his cheek grazing the rough concrete. He felt something scratchy tightening around his wrists, which were being pinned and held behind his back. “W – what is that? What are you doing?”

 

Peter hadn’t had enough time to properly gauge the amount of threats there were, all he knew was that he was being hurt, his cheek stung and all he wanted to do was run home to his father.

 

“Sodomy is a serious and very punishable crime.” A low voice hissed from behind him. Peter blanched, _what the hell were these people talking about?_

 

“I’m fourteen! All I’ve ever done is hold someone’s hand?! There’s got to be some kind of mistake here, I don’t know wh –”

 

“Shut up,” one of the men grunted, tightening what must have been rope as he did. “Nobody cares how old you are, or who your father is. You’re _bent_ , and that’s all anyone’s ever gonna see.” Peter froze up against the wall, still feeling the ache of someone’s elbow against his back and hands tugging his wrists backward.

 

_How could anyone know? He had always been so careful…_

 

“I – I… I’m _not_.” He argued weakly, already knowing it was too late now. Even if he managed to get away from these men, his home was blocks away and Tony couldn’t protect him forever.

 

“You’re lying now too? You don’t like that sort of stuff, huh?” One of the men laughed bitterly.

 

“N – no… I – I like girls too,” Peter mumbled unsurely, hoping the men would back off. There was silence for a moment, and then the ropes pulled so taught that it rubbed his wrists raw and he cried out painfully.

 

“So, you’re insane then? Obviously.” Peter writhed beneath the sensation of his raw, angry rope burns. “I heard Creedmoor had a few cells left, a couple solitary rooms.”

 

Peter squirmed, trying to shove the weight off his body which had him pinned against the wall. He had heard about Creedmoor Psychiatric Centre, there were a lot of stories and speculations in the papers about the way the building was run and how its patients were treated. “Don’t worry, they’ll sort you out nicely, I’m sure they still have a few doctors on site who would be happy performing a lobotomy to fix you.”

 

“ _No!_ I’m not broken and I don’t need to be fixed! Leave me alone, get off me!” Peter bucked, trying to force the hands off his back.

 

_He was supposed to be home in less than forty-five minutes… He wasn’t allowed out past sunset_.

 

“ _Shh_ , shut the hell up if you know what’s good for you.” A second voice snarled, pressing a hand over Peter’s mouth as a black and white, Dodge police car pulled past the alleyway, only slowing so a cigarette could be flicked from the window.

 

“ _G’t ‘ff_!” Peter grunted, his voice muffled and unintelligible.

 

“You need help, we’re getting it for you,” one of the men said, his voice somehow a promise and a threat all at once. Peter winced as the hand pulled away and he was yanked backward, away from the wall.

 

There was a car at the end of the alley, and someone kicked him in the back of the knee, forcing him to stumble forward. He staggered, his wrists still behind his back meant that if he fell, his face would take the brunt of the damage.

 

“We’re taking him to Creedmoor, he’s unstable,” someone told the driver, shaking Peter’s arms roughly, his neck clicking as he was jerked backward and then forward, his chin hitting a leather seat. “Get out of the way,” the same voice growled, grabbing the back of his collar and hauling him up and across one seat, pressing his cheek against the window.

 

“M’ not unstable!” Peter shrieked, gasping as the hand pulling the rope around his wrists yanked harder.

 

“You think you can sleep around with men and women – you’re not mentally sound, kid.” Someone in the front seat laughed gruffly, the engine drowning out his laughter.

 

“I’m fourteen! I don’t sleep with anybo – _Ah_!” The man beside him in the backseat had slapped the back of his head, tearing out a few strands of hair as he went.

 

“Stop arguing, you can lie all you want to the caretakers at the asylum.” Peter squirmed harder, trying to lean across to kick one of the men, but the stocky brunette to his left tugged the ropes and he was dragged across the seat. He would have fallen across the man’s lap if it weren’t for the fact that he was caught by the throat.

 

Peter wheezed dangerously, tears springing to his eyes as he coughed and gargled, trying to catch a breath from the odd angle he was being held at. “If you say another word, we’ll just dump you at the police station instead and show them what we found, so they get the right to put you up for execution.”

 

Something fell across the backseat beside Peter’s head. The grip around his throat released and he gasped, sucking in air as he shuffled back, keeping his lips shut as he stared at the small, grainy collection of grey photographs.

 

They were of him and Harry.

 

Peter remembered that day, it had been after school. He was already in a good mood, he knew that Tony had kept his afternoon free, just so they could work together in the lab.

 

His hand was interlocked with Harry’s, his forehead leant against the taller boy’s chest as he laughed brightly.

 

Peter felt violated. Someone had been watching him with a friend that he trusted enough to be affectionate with. There were _pictures_ … he felt trapped, watched, _followed_ by older men who said he needed to be ‘fixed.’ They tried to imply that he was… that he had… done stuff… with Harry, that he definitely hadn’t – and wouldn’t – because he wasn’t ready to.

 

Even though his Dad was the most supportive parent on the face of the Earth when it came to who Peter was attracted to… he knew that Tony would be terrified of what it would mean once Peter actually… went all the way with somebody who was the same gender as him.

 

Peter knew his father was over-protective – hell, if he were here right now, the men currently threatening Peter would be dead meat. But he wasn’t here, he was at home, probably waiting for his kid to arrive safely…

 

\----

 

The drive took about twenty minutes, and when they pulled up, and Peter was tugged forward, he stared up at the building. It was tall, about fifteen floors of dull, grey brick. Some of the floors didn’t even seem to have windows, blocked off from the real world as if they were too crazed to deserve human interaction.

 

The man holding Peter’s wrists pushed the door open, pulling him along to the front desk. The interior of the building was almost as dull as the brick outside. Decaying pot plants were scattered across benches and a few lone children’s toys sat eerily in empty chairs, Peter could have sworn he saw a baton lying in one of the cubbyholes behind the receptionist.

 

“He just finished his trial. He’s mentally unstable, plead guilty to sodomy and having attraction to both women and men. I don’t have his papers on me, but the judge is sending through the admittance forms now.” Peter’s eyes widened, he opened his mouth to protest, but the man pulled him backwards, pinning his wrists between his stomach and Peter’s back, so that the receptionist couldn’t see as he reached up and twisted the rope, forcing them to twist around Peter’s raw flesh until he choked on his own breath.

 

“As my associate said, we need you to book him as of right now. He’s violent and lashes out quite a bit, so I’d suggest some form of restraints.” Peter turned to look at the man, horrified that he was being accused of explicit acts and dangerous behaviour.

 

“No, they’re lying! I want to call my father – let me have a phone c – _ah_!” Another man had already entered from a small office behind the receptionist, he wore a fully white uniform and had a Black Jack Slapper in his right hand, not to mention a small police-issued sap in his belt.

 

Peter closed his mouth, attempting to back away. He felt utterly helpless as he looked between, he multiple people surrounding him. The two men who had attacked and thrown him into the car looked impressed at the somewhat illegal and highly frowned upon weapon that the guard was holding, and the receptionist looked bored, even disgusted as she looked down at Peter over the front desk.

 

“Did the judge say anything about solitary?” The guard asked gruffly, taking Peter’s wrists from the first man and beginning to untangle it.

 

“N –”

 

“Yeah, four days to get him used to the asylum’s way of dealing with troublemakers.” Peter couldn’t help but squeeze his eyes shut as the guard tugged his arms across his chest in a basket hold, he was terrified, an icy sensation washing over his entire body as he fully took in the seriousness of the situation.

 

He was being admitted to an asylum because someone had seen him with Harry. His Dad would have no idea where he was because he _hadn’t gotten a trial_ and the guard currently restraining him and forcing him down the hall was carrying two weapons which could be lethal with the right amount of force.

 

A tear slipped down his cheek, making him feel even younger than he really was. He stumbled as he was jerked sideways into an elevator. The guard hit a button and Peter couldn’t help but let out a broken sob as he saw the name of the floor.

 

_Padded Seclusion and Straitjacket/Uniform Fitting Rooms_

 

\----

 

Tony was still sat at his work desk, drawing up and editing old blueprints. He glanced up at the clock a few times, continually looking out the window, feeling all the more worried as the sun began sinking.

 

A radio was buzzing behind him softly, something related to the war, and a few mentions of Captain America who he had met a few times during weapon conferences.

 

He was the one who tested out the shield to make sure it was fit for advanced weaponry, so he knew the man – Steve Rogers – relatively well.

 

But that’s not what he was focused on at that moment, he was more worried about the anxious feeling that was uncurling in his chest that had only happened two other times in his life.

 

The first was after parent teacher conferences when he couldn’t find Peter in the classroom with all the other kids, and the second was when Peter hadn’t come inside when he had called for dinner.

 

In both those instances, Tony had been right, and had ended up carrying his kid home and having to wipe away his tears.

 

He didn’t ever want to see Peter stuffed into a locker or hunched over in the back garden having an asthma attack again.

 

\----

 

Peter was breathing heavily when the elevator doors opened, and he was pushed forward, his feet scuffing along the linoleum floors. He was turned into a small office with four long racks of different grey uniforms.

 

The guard walked him past the first three and started rifling through the fourth, looking for the smallest size.

 

Peter quivered nervously as he was handed a shirt and pants. They were the same dull grey colour as the rest of the building and resembled plain hospital scrubs.

 

“Go get dressed in there,” the man said evenly, watching Peter turn toward the small barrier which didn’t give much privacy anyway. If he weren’t so short, it would have only come up to his chin.

 

As he draped his clothing over the side of the wall, the guard took them and dropped them down a laundry shoot, not bothering to ask whether Peter had anything important in his pockets. He watched anxiously as the guard sorted through another rack which he couldn’t see from where he stood. Peter caught flashes of a brighter white colour, but other than that, the bubbling fear continued to rise as he stepped out from behind the wall.

 

The smallest size still swam on him, the pants hung low on his hips, but it didn’t matter, considering the shirt could have passed as a socially acceptable dress length.

 

His heartbeat sped when the guard walked out with a straitjacket in his arms, his eyes locked on the tear tracks coating Peter’s cheeks.

 

“I – I won’t hurt anybody. I don’t n – need to be restrained…” he began, taking a small, frightened step backward. “Please don’t, I swear… I – I’m not dangerous.”

 

The guard said nothing, only stepped forward so the arm holes were inches away from Peter’s hands. He shivered uncomfortably, closing his eyes and holding out his arms in defeat, wishing he had the strength or even the courage to fight against the single guard.

 

The guard seemed to know what he was doing, the straitjacket was on in less than two minutes, and before Peter could even blink away the threat of his tears, he was already being pushed into a room covered in soft padding.

 

It was three feet by fourteen feet, a small plate of one-way safety glass was situated at the front of the room, but it was scarred and scored by what looked like nail marks.

 

The door had four locks on it, and Peter heard every single one click behind him as the guard walked back down the hall and took the elevator back down to reception.

 

\---- Four Days Later ----

 

Tony was desperate at this point, he had looked everywhere that Peter had been, talked to everyone he knew would be worrying about his son too, including Harry.

 

Harry had looked nervous when Tony showed up, all he had said was that Peter hadn’t been at school, but a set of photographs were left in his mailbox.

 

From there, Tony did some research into a group of men who went around hiring private eyes and then taking people from the streets and blackmailing them with the photographic evidence they had found.

 

It just so happened that he also stumbled upon a file that listed a new resident to Creedmoor asylum matching his son’s physical description, on the same night that Peter had gone missing.

 

He didn’t want to wait any longer than how much time it had already taken him to find where Peter was being held.

 

And that’s why he called Steve.

 

It was also why the two of them happened to be crouched behind a patch of shrubbery and bushes the very next night.

 

“What evidence did they even get on him?” Steve asked worriedly, crouching slightly lower so the red of his shield didn’t stand out amongst the bushes. “Last time we talked at the weapons demo, you said that he was a good kid, did something change?”

 

“God no,” Tony said quietly, watching the two guards walking around the building. “He’s amazing, they just… they got pictures of him…” Tony bit the inside of his cheek, fearing the worst.

 

If Steve turned out to be against the same thing that the men who took Peter were… he could refuse to help, and then Tony was stuck trying to break into a mental asylum on his own. He took a breath, Steve was a good person… never mind the fact that he was the embodiment of American values.

 

“They got pictures of him and… another boy from his school, holding hands. Peter… Peter came out to me almost a year ago.” He winced, only looking up at Steve after a few seconds of silence.

 

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Steve asked, no anger or disgust on his face at all.

 

“I uh… nothing, I just – I thought you might be… against that sort of stuff.” Tony watched Steve’s eyebrow raising as well as the corners of his lips peeking upward.

 

“Tony, I’ve been in love with a man since I was sixteen. Everyone assumes Bucky and I are ‘inseparable friends’ but I can assure you, that definitely isn’t the case.”

 

Tony straightened, nodding stiffly and realising that not everybody was out to hurt his son.

 

\----

 

After four days of nothing except padded walls and absolute isolation, Peter was finally pulled from the solitary confinement block.

 

When he was strapped down to a metal operating table, he almost missed the soft, glaringly white walls.

 

When small, dark pads were placed over his skull and temples and a small box was activated, he decided he would rather be tied up in a cloth straitjacket.

 

And when two doctors fiddled with dials on the box and twisted one of them until white hot agony was searing through Peter’s head and body – he knew that all he wanted was to be back home, curled up by the fire with his father.

 

\----

 

Tony hated how cliché him and Steve were being, but they had only taken out the guards on patrol and swapped clothes because they literally had no other way into the building without immediately being detected.

 

The woman at the front desk didn’t give them a second look as they went past her and into the elevator. Tony stared at the buttons and felt sicker and sicker as he read each label.

 

He hit the one which he hoped Peter wouldn’t be kept on, but deep down he knew there was no other floor he would logically be on.

 

_Conversion Therapy Rooms_

 

\----

 

Apparently electroshock therapy wasn’t enough, because Peter was being sat up, hands holding him upright as he swayed dizzily, the room somewhat blurry and unfocused from the repeated shocks.

 

He groaned as something pricked his upper arm, _an I.V line_ he realised dimly. Someone was unsticking all of the pads and instead tilting his chin up. There were pictures of him and Harry being projected on the blank wall by the door.

 

He looked so happy in them, he remembered what that felt like, to be wanted by somebody instead of being told he was disgusting, that he was an abomination.

 

It was hard to imagine that the photos were only taken a week ago… his hand was held a week ago, he laughed a week ago, he clung onto somebody who was happy to hold him back a week ago.

 

His arm felt cold, something was rushing through his veins and it made him breathe heavily.

 

A few minutes later and he was panting, sweat beading on his forehead and a sick feeling crawling up his stomach.

 

_Is this what people mean when they say I make them sick with my ways?_

 

Peter gagged, someone shoved a bowl into his lap as he heaved, throwing up the dull, tasteless slop he had been fed the past five days.

 

Someone tapped his chin; a gloved hand pulled his head back up and then he was staring back at another photograph of him and Harry. In the new picture, he was blushing, his head tipped upward as Harry’s lips pressed against his forehead.

 

It only took a few seconds for the next round of nausea to hit, and Peter heaved once more, sobbing as he retched into the bowl held in his lap.

 

He spent an hour doing the same things again and again.

 

Distantly, he wondered whether the security and warmth he felt a week ago was even worth the torture he was going through in the asylum.

 

Peter wasn’t even taken to the normal rooms with the other inmates. He was told that he could be contagious. _As if his willingness to love somebody who was kind, caring and the same gender was infectious_.

 

He was restrained with padded leather cuffs and dropped to his knees as he was shoved into a room on his own.

 

“Do you think he’s fixed?” One of the doctors murmured.

 

Despite the traces of nausea swirling around in his body, and the way everything stung his eyes and made the room spin from the electrocution, Peter looked up, his shaky body tensing as he spoke weakly.

 

“I am not _broken_.”

 

\----

 

Tony walked down the hall, shivering when he saw someone packing up an I.V line and switching off a blank projector from behind Steve’s shoulder.

 

“I don’t know what he looks like, you should go first,” Steve whispered.

 

“You’ll know him when you see him,” Tony muttered, thinking of his son’s wide, brown eyes, wild curls and pink cheeks.

 

“Does he have your eyes?” Steve said, slowing slightly and making Tony perk up.

 

“Yes…”

 

He stepped around Steve, looking into a small glass rectangle that let him see into a dull room. “Is that…?” He pushed open the handle, cursing quietly as he fumbled with his access card.

 

He stepped unsurely into the space, turning to see a mass of grey curled up in the corner furthest from the door.

 

_Peter_.

 

“Oh god, baby…” he dropped to his knees, crawling over to where Peter was huddled, his bare arms bruised and scraped up just like his face. There were small, circular patches of electrical burns that looked like they would fade, but it didn’t matter, because they would have still hurt his child.

 

Peter looked up, his eyes watery and traumatised. “I’m here,” Tony whispered, opening his arms and pulling his boy into his chest, trusting Steve to keep watch.

 

“Th – they – they said – they said I w – was…”

 

“No, don’t even repeat it. They were wrong, so, so wrong about you kiddo, okay? You’re perfect. You’re my kid, and there’s nothing about you that needs to be changed.” He pulled Peter’s head against his chest, kissing the crown of his head and allowing his own tears, which had been forming for days, fall down into the unbrushed mass of hazel curls.

 

“I – I… I know, I – I’m not broken,” Peter said weakly, his shoulders slumping in relief as he felt Tony unlocking his cuffs as he murmured soft reassurances into his hair.

 

“You’re not, you never were. Peter, honey… you’re perfect the way you are. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.” Tony felt Peter sniffling against his shoulder, and he sighed as the cuffs finally came loose.

 

Peter hands immediately flew to the back of Tony’s shirt, clutching tightly and pulling closer into the hug. “I love you the way you are,” he promised meaningfully. “You don’t deserve to be locked up like this.”

 

“I wanna go home,” Peter said softly.

 

And as Tony did the other two times Peter had been hurt like this, he picked his child up, holding him closely and focusing on the beat of his heart, Tony carried him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did heaps of research for this story, and the asylum mentioned is actually a real place, here's a news article about it if you'd like to read more about it's horrors:
> 
> https://www.nytimes.com/1984/06/18/nyregion/fear-and-brutality-in-a-creedmoor-ward.html?pagewanted=all
> 
>  
> 
> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~ Please give me a follow if you're interested <3
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


	28. Suicide (Not Any Main Characters)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter makes his way to the tower after he is unable to catch a falling civilian in time.
> 
>  
> 
> Fluff and deep conversations about the snap ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else who has any ideas or questions - please just go ahead and ask me! You can message me on Tumblr, (Agib-2002) you can leave an anon ask if you're shy, <3 or just leave them in the comments on one of my fics!
> 
> I love all of you who click on my fics and I'd love to make any of you happy by answering questions or giving head canons for ideas you have! Writing them makes me feel so fulfilled too :)
> 
> I can't even begin to explain the bubbly feeling I get when someone leaves an ask, It's like my dream coming true, just being able to make people happy with something I enjoy. (Blargh that was cheesy, Tony would've thrown up.)
> 
> <3 Leave a comment, I hope you enjoy!

Peter stood, looking out over New York, his face solemn and despairing. He was standing on the party deck of the tower, telling himself that _this is stupid, go home and calm down._

 

But he couldn’t. Not after failing to save someone who had a life to live, someone who decided they didn’t want to live their life. Another victim of depression, a single point of data in the never-ending graph that was statistical analysis of teenage suicide.

 

He had been so close too, possibly minutes away, maybe even seconds – if Karen was programmed to alert him of people dangerously close to the edges of rooftops.

 

_This is stupid! Thisisstupid – what am I doing? _His head babbled nonsensically at his heart which was tugging him inside, out of the rain and back indoors where Peter knew for a fact that Tony was probably working or sleeping. _I’m going to embarrass myself._ He thought bitterly.__

__

__“Hey, F.R.I?” He called softly into the room shrouded in mostly shadows and bluish tinted light from the moon outside._ _

__

__“Yes Mr. Parker – how may I be of assistance?” Peter blinked, only processing that the A.I. had addressed him after a few seconds of mindless consideration._ _

__

__“You can call me Peter,” he reminded her dimly. “I was just wondering where Mr. Stark was. Is he sleeping?” There was a brief pause, and then the A.I. spoke up again._ _

__

__“Noted, Peter, Mr. Stark is currently in the penthouse. Yes, he is attempting to sleep.” Peter sighed, worrying about his mentor to no end._ _

__

__“Is he okay?” He asked timidly, wondering how long Tony had been struggling with sleep since the last time he admitted to facing nightmares concerning the snap. Peter thought about what had happened earlier in the night, and whether or not he would see that person falling through his own nightmares._ _

__

__It seemed like one of the perks of being a superhero was having new nightmares added into the cycle of horror that he endured as he slept. At least the terror never got old…_ _

__

__First it was his parents, dreams of the photos he had seen of their plane, imagining himself being inside the same metal coffin in the sky as it twisted and burned through the sky._ _

__

__Then, it was Ben. Bloody hands and stained sweatshirts dripping across the pavement as the murderer sprinted out of sight with his gun still clutched protectively as Peter huddled over his second lost father-figure._ _

__

__Next up was the ferry incident. The anxious cries of innocent families out on day trips as he strained every muscle, trying to hold an entire boat together with his flimsy webs while Tony watched on in disappointment. His unimpressed and almost offended face emerging from the suit while Peter backed away, his apology tumbling out on autopilot as his hero and mentor admitted that he was the only one who thought Peter could be anything more than a normal, stupid kid._ _

__

__A _child_._ _

__

__The building collapse was shortly after the ferry incident. Peter would wake up with cold sweat beading against his hairline, the echo of his own screams dying in his head as the dream faded. The sick sensation of his own ribs grating against each other as dust and chunks of concrete rained down, coating the surface of the slowly rising water. Pipes had burst and if he didn’t pull himself out of the debris, he would drown or gradually get crushed under the weight of all his mistakes and cockiness._ _

__

__And, arguably the worst, was Titan. He ran and fell into Tony’s arms, begging him, praying to a god he didn’t believe in as he felt his own body crumbling away and falling apart into flakes of dust beneath him. His heart taking over as he begged and pleaded, holding onto his father-figure tighter than he could have ever summoned the courage for back on Earth, when he wasn’t dying._ _

__

__And now it would be an innocent civilian, plagued by their own brain and empty heart as they took the plunge, watching their body sinking faster than a sunset as they fell towards the highway below._ _

__

___He was Spider-Man, he’s supposed to save people like that. Why had he been so slow?_ _ _

__

__Peter sighed, rubbing his eyes and dropping his chin to his chest as he exhaled._ _

__

___Why am I here? What can Mr. Stark even do to help me?_ _ _

__

__“F.R.I, what’s Mr. Stark doing?” He asked as he neared the elevator, his feet squelching against the linoleum as he tried his best not to drip rainwater everywhere._ _

__

__“Mr. Stark is currently attempting to sleep, although he seems lost in thought, would you like me to notify him of your arrival?” Peter shook his head, knowing she would see._ _

__

__“No thanks, I just need to get some clothes from my overnight room, maybe I can have a quick shower.” He was half speaking to F.R.I.D.A.Y and half thinking aloud, but it was a solid first step, so nothing was stopping him._ _

__

__He pulled his own sweatpants from a draw in his room – technically the spare room for when he stayed the night – and burrowed through a separate drawer like a possessed child looking for their favourite toy. “Soft,” he murmured quietly as his hand brushed past the MIT sweater he had definitely not stolen from Tony…_ _

__

__He still swam in it, and if he wanted to fit better, he would have had to roll up the sleeves, but for now he was happy to leave the sweater paws as they were. He walked into the small bathroom connected to his room, the familiar rush of gratitude washing over him as he remembered that Tony knew that Peter liked long, hot showers when he was in a low patch._ _

__

__He turned on the shower head and neatly placed his clothes to the side, peeling off his suit and hanging it up to dry, switching the heater on and leaving it on auto timer to help dry it out._ _

__

__He sighed as he stepped under the hot water, watching the steam rise in little, curly tendrils. He wondered if Tony saw his hair that way too, it wouldn’t surprise him judging by how often he commented on Peter’s wild curls. He knew the main reason his mentor ruffled his hair was because he liked the curls to be free, not laid flat against his head._ _

__

__The shower was somewhat calming, easing the tension in his shoulders and allowing him to roll his neck and sigh as he stared up at the ceiling._ _

__

__F.R.I.D.A.Y alerted him after ten minutes had passed, she knew that although Peter loved to stand under the spray for long periods of time, he was also hyperconscious of how expensive hot water was. He never listened when Tony told him ‘ _kid, I’m literally a billionaire, don’t worry about that stuff._ ’_ _

__

__Peter wrapped a towel around his waist and dried his hair with one hand, sighing contentedly as he breathed in a lungful of steam. He slipped the soft clothing on, not able to hold back a long yawn as he padded out into the hallway like a disgruntled child looking for attention._ _

__

__Tony’s room was barely two hallways away, and Peter was sure that even his non-concealed footsteps were being hidden by the sound of the rain hitting the outside of the tower._ _

__

__His door was cracked open slightly, and Peter felt a strange déjà vu as he wandered past the doorframe, his feet sinking into the fluffy rug. He saw a Stark Pad and a tablet perched on the nightstand, one side of the bed was made and the other homed a lump about the size of his mentor._ _

__

__“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked softly, trudging closer to the edge of the bed. He saw his mentor’s dark hair poking out from beneath the covers, his head on the pillow, chest rising and falling._ _

__

___Alive._ _ _

__

__Tony shifted, rolling to his right side and blearily blinking up at Peter with a tired expression on his face._ _

__

__“Pete? What’s wrong, kid?” His eyes scrunched in concern, an arm stretched out and he pulled back the covers on the empty side of the bed. “C’mere buddy,” he said comfortingly, helping Peter wriggle under the covers, immediately curling up against Tony’s side and resting his chin on the mechanic’s shoulder. “Nightmare?” Tony whispered into the dark room._ _

__

__“No,” Peter answered sadly, taking a shuddery breath and relaxing as Tony’s hand wound its way through his curls, scratching soothingly as he began to softly hum, encouraging the boy to talk to him. “I went on patrol,” he started, squeezing his eyes shut and trying not to picture the scene again. “There was a kid, m – maybe my age, possibly older. Th – they were crying, and standing on top of an apartment building like May’s… I couldn’t get there in time.”_ _

__

__Peter sniffled, burying his face further into Tony’s neck. “They jumped, a – and everyone was just _watching_ , but I couldn’t get there – I – I couldn’t get that high fast enough.” His words were muffled but he caught Tony’s sad noise of understanding._ _

__

__“I know, kiddo.” Peter furled an arm up and around Tony’s, clutching his wrist tightly._ _

__

__“I know I can’t save everybody… but I was just so close, a – and I didn’t make it, so I felt like I let everyone down.” Tony sighed, swirling his fingers around Peter’s scalp and wishing he could take away the guilt and regret that he already knew too well._ _

__

__“Some people don’t want to be saved, Pete, and you can’t shoulder the weight of their own decisions.” He felt Peter slumping against his side, his small body shifting impossibly closer, seeking out the affection he always needed after a bad patrol._ _

__

__“I don’t like seeing people get hurt like that. Even when I can save people… their friends and families are always crying.” Tony stayed silent, moving his fingers to the nape of Peter’s neck and twirling the strands of hazel. “It makes me worry about how you felt after the snap,” the teen whispered shyly._ _

__

__Tony tensed up._ _

__

__He knew exactly how he felt after the dusting, because he woke up from nightmares feeling the same way. It was why he was so willing to let Peter curl up at his side like a defenceless baby animal – because he could wake up and immediately be assured that his kid was here. He was _safe_ , and _alive_._ _

__

__“Sorry,” Peter apologised quietly, sensing Tony’s discomfort. “I know you don’t like talking about it.”_ _

__

__“No, kid. It’s fine, I’m the one who should be apologising. I didn’t ever really… talk about it with you, I – I never asked what you went through.” Tony twisted his hand to take Peter’s fingers and squeeze them reassuringly. “I know you were scared, and it killed me to know that I couldn’t save you when you asked me to.”_ _

__

__“I shouldn’t have asked.” Peter said bluntly, frowning at the pillow as if it had personally offended him. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to, I mean… I was literally disintegrating, so logically I should have just… I – I don’t know, said something more meaningful with my last words.”_ _

__

__Tony stiffened, rolling onto his shoulder and gripping Peter’s shirt, tugging him closer and wrapping an arm around his back to form the tight embrace._ _

__

__“I know what you’re doing inside that head of yours,” Tony tapped his forehead gently. “I know what you’re feeling, and you don’t have to be guilty at all.” Peter shrugged, he always regretted the fact that one of the last things he had done was beg Tony to save him. He wished he had done something else._ _

__

__Tony brushed a curl out of his eye, propping himself up against the pillow and looking at Peter sincerely. “What would you have said instead?”_ _

__

__“That I appreciated everything you did for me.” Peter said without missing a beat, staring straight back at Tony confidently. “That you mentoring me had meant the world, and that you were… y’know…” Peter trailed off shyly, Tony quirked an eyebrow at him. “That you were kinda like a… like a father-figure… o – or someone to look up to I gue –”_ _

__

__Peter jolted slightly when Tony pulled his head into his chest, kissing the crown of his head and murmuring softly into his curls as the bedsheets wrapped around them comfortably, the rain still hammering against the windows. Peter felt safe, and wanted. _Protected.__ _

__

__“I wish I’d said more too, but now you’re here and you know that you’re my kiddo, so it’s okay now.” Peter smiled, his cheeks flushing a rosier shade of pink as he burrowed closer, his face nuzzling into the crook of Tony’s neck as he felt the eerily comforting sense of security washing over him. “But if you think it would help you, I’m here to listen.”_ _

__

__Peter squirmed slightly, his nose nudging up until his chin rested over Tony’s shoulder. He felt the mechanic’s arm curling slightly tighter, silently supporting him._ _

__

__“I know, but m’ home now. Everything’s alright, I have you.” Tony softened, leaning back to look at the ceiling and smiling contentedly._ _

__

__“Yeah,” he murmured, feeling Peter’s chest rising and falling with every puff of warm air that brushed past his cheek, “ _home_.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> And an Instagram (I don't use it much but it's there for anyone who likes the occasional post or if anyone prefers Instagram over Tumblr!)  
> ~ It's also agib_2002 ~ Please give me a follow if you're interested <3
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr, or Instagram.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> <3 <3 <3
> 
> I have a Tumblr! ~ It's agib_2002 ~
> 
> I post on there - it's all Marvel (especially irondad)
> 
> A few people have commented and mentioned that they've read more than just one of my fics and enjoyed them, so, if anybody wants to, I'd be really happy responding to asks and getting prompts to write if you leave them on Tumblr.
> 
> So... yeah, leave an ask/suggestion if you want me to read and respond to it (or even just ask any questions you're curious about me or my writing or anything really).
> 
> I'd honestly be happy talking about anything if anyone messaged me, so feel free to hit the asks/submissions/messages if you wanted to say anything at all.
> 
> <3


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